Kill the Cliche
by M. George
Summary: There's been an interesting development in the usually drone patterns of the university campus. Susan Derkins, note: childhood nemesis, has transferred to NYU. Will await further development. Signed, Dr. Calvin. SusieCalvin... eventually.
1. Chapter 1

A note before we begin:

(quoted from Bill Watterson, the man himself)

_The so-called "gimmick" of my strip- the two versions of Hobbes- is sometimes misunderstood. I don't think of Hobbes as a doll that miraculously comes to life when Calvin's around. Neither do I think of Hobbes as the product of Calvin's imagination. The nature of Hobbe's reality doesn't interest me, and each story goes out of its way to avoid resolving the issue. Calvin sees Hobbes one way, and everyone else sees Hobbes another way. I show two versions of reality, and each makes complete sense to the participant who sees it. I think that's how life works. None of us sees the world in exactly the same way, and I just draw that literally in the strip. Hobbes is more about the subjective nature of reality than about dolls coming to life._

So the reason for keeping Hobbes how he is, is to stay true to the spirit of the strip.

. . . . .

Calvin's POV

. . . . .

It was Susie.

It had to be. She walked up the steps and every male head in a fifty yard radius turned, even if they didn't know why. She was generating that weird kind of energy that girls do, but only _the_girls, and her dark, honey brown hair kept flipping around behind her and catching the light. Hypnotic, some might say.

That's how I knew it was her. She kind of looked the same as she had in middle school, with the exception of some deity-crafted curves that most definitely hadn't been on her thirteen-year-old frame, and her face was more mature, more _womanly._But that wasn't what gave it away for me. I knew it was her because of the way she caught everyone's attention. Every eye was always on Susie Derkins. Every beaming teacher, every drooling boy, every jealously worshipping girl.

Even I had fallen prey, I could admit it now. I served her with a different sort of attention than everyone else by insulting and tormenting her; ie: regaling her with my latest mind-boggling discovery, growing to great lengths to gross her out, or constantly insisting that my ever-poorer grade was more notable than her never-faltering A+. But it was attention, nonetheless. In all actuality, I was probably the worst offender. I didn't have a lot of other friends at school, so most of my social-energy had been directed toward her.

I now considered myself cured and it was why, seven years later as I started my senior year of college at NYU, I could defy the laws of universal gravity and turned deliberately in the other direction, facing away from her and shoving my nose in my worn copy of _War and Peace_.

She walked right past me and I lowered the book just enough to peer at her retreating form over the pages. Even though I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't be, I was a little curious (and not just about the newly developed sway of her hips). The two of us had parted ways in high school, since she had gone to an all-girl private school, but I remembered my mom saying something about her getting accepted into Harvard. Transferring to NYU from an exclusive ivy league school didn't make any sense, if that was even why she was here.

She disappeared into the sea of students and I pushed all thoughts of her from my head like toothpaste squeezed from a tube.

. . . . .

"Cute Susie?" Hobbes didn't even look up from my old comic book, slurping loudly from the drink in his hand sorry, _paw_.

"_No,_" I replied with a grimace. "Those two words can't coincide without creating an oxymoron. But lest we forgot, you always did seem to cozy right up _Hey!"_I slammed the fridge door shut and turned, glaring. "Is that _my_milkshake from the diner?"

"No." _Sluuuurrrp._

"Oh yes it is," I snarled. "I was looking forward to that all day." I was too lazy to fight him for it, though, so I settled on a column of stale Ritz crackers instead. I plopped next to him on the couch and shoved about six of them in my mouth. "I can't believe how much food you go through," I muttered, but it came out sounding like, "Ahcuhnt bfff 'ow misssh oo-oo- o cssshtooo," crumbs spewing over my lips.

He ignored me, lost in blissful technicolor action, but the amount of food that "I" consumed was honestly becoming an issue with my roommates. Not that they cared, it was my money after all, but I think they were starting to believe I had some type of parasite or OCD disorder, considering I ate double the amount of a normal person, but stayed thin; or the fact that at least one third of all my groceries were fish-based. It was a good thing tuna was so cheap.

I'd realized long ago that people didn't see Hobbes the way I did. But it wasn't until around six grade that I realized I might actually be crazy.

Dozens of psychologists told my parents that imaginary friends were something kids grew out of. I didn't—and what had once been a childhood quirk became something that brought a touch of fear to my mother's eyes when she watched me conversing with someone who, in her perspective, was made of stitched cloth and stuffing.

God knows I loved Hobbes. But I didn't want to be crazy. I took him to the woods and my scrawny, twelve year old self told him to leave me the hell alone—to get away from me and never come back. In response, he reached back a paw and slashed my tear-stained cheek.

Now twenty two, I still had the faint lines on my face, scars reminding me of my version of reality.

If my mom hadn't thought I was insane before, she was sure of it when she found me in front of the mirror, laughing with joy as my face poured blood. As she drove me to the hospital and the doctors bandaged my face, I understood that my wound was real to me, to my mom, to the doctors, and to Hobbes. But the explanation was an unmapped plane, not entirely possible, and yet perfectly imaginable.

It wasn't explainable, but I tried to explain it. I spent most of my teen years conducting experiments to prove that A) Hobbes was imaginary, B) I was totally off my rocker, or (something that I hadn't thought to include at all at first) C) something special was going on and knowing why might not be important just yet.

All things considered, I thought Hobbes and I had taken life in stride, and I'd turned out to be a semi-functional adult. I was a psychology/philosophy double-major and I planned on doing my masters thesis on imaginary friends.

"Why is Susie Derkins at NYU?" I asked after I swallowed. "It's not the usual place the first woman president gets her degree."

"Are you going to call her?"

"Of course not!" I snapped. "She doesn't even know we're on the same planet anymore, let alone the same campus. Besides, I don't know her phone number anyway. _Not_ that I would call her if I did."

Hobbes shrugged. He muttered something to himself that I couldn't really hear, but I thought I caught the faint melody of K-I-S-S-I-N-G…

Before I could make good use of the throw pillow next to me, I suddenly remembered Chemistry class and jerked my wrist up, blanching as I caught sight of my watch. "Great! I'm late."

I jumped up and grabbed my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder. "Don't eat my ding-dongs!" I warned as I flew out the door.

. . . . .

Chemistry was boring. Really, it was just glorified math. And math and I, we'd never gotten along very well. Also, the room was stuffed with freshman and budding science majors. I needed chemistry as one of the base points of my major, but . . . due to lack of interest, I'd failed it twice already. This was my third and final shot.

I doodled in my notebook as the teacher droned on, when suddenly and unexpectedly, the blessed word '_lab'_ left his lips.

I perked up, straightening in my seat a little. I hated chemistry, but I loved explosives. Naturally, the only thing I'd ever learned in any science class is how to best make things blow up. In fact, when it came to bombs, bangs and lethal detonations, I was quite the expert. Who cared if we were only trying to make some kind of liquid turn a different color? I knew how to make it explode.

I was almost getting kind of excited when the teacher then said one of the cursed words, and although similar to the blessed word, they were not to be confused. _Lab partner._

I sulked, glaring around the room, wondering which yuppie I was going to get stuck with.

And then, _she_walked in.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized (of course) to the professor, her cheeks flushed red. "I got a little lost trying to find this place…" And she said it so adorably humble and embarrassed that the professor instantly melted.

"That's all right," Mr. Berkenstien (yeah, that was really his name) replied. "Class—this is my new TA, Susan Derkins.

"Hello," Susie said, all ambassador-of-the-world like. "I just transferred here from Harvard Law."

"Come in, Ms. Derkins. We're doing a lab today, please take a seat. I was just about to assign partners."

"Perfect." Susie rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan and smiled too-charmingly at the students. "Labs are the best."

I felt—literally, like it was a tangible substance—as the inevitable liking-of-Susie-Derkins infected the class.

Mr. Berkenstien cleared his throat. "Avery Anderson? You're with Christine Tanner. Benjamin Frank? You're with Kishma Ash." And so, it went, until after several names had been read. I was wondering how Susie's face would look when the professor read my name. Surely she'd recognize me. She'd be surprised, no doubt, that I'd even made it this far in college. So, I waited, and Mr. Berkenstien went through every name until everyone had a partner.

Except me.

I sat there, in my stupefied silence, as everyone stood, separating into pairs, and then walked into the next room which held the lab equipment. Namely, the burners and toxic chemicals. We were the last two people in the room and Mr. Berkenstien was arranging papers on his desk, when I spoke:

"Um, Professor? You forgot to give me a partner."

He didn't even look up, cleaning his glasses on his lab coat. "I forgot nothing, Calvin." He looked at me, carefully placing his glasses back on his nose. "You are, as you may recall, banned from the chemical lab. In order to receive credit for this lab, you will observe, _and do nothing else,_with another couple and then write a two page—"

"Two pages!"

"_A two page paper_ accurately describing the chemical reactions, due next class period."

My jaw flexed with the effort of holding back the (witty and devastating) reply that would only make my situation worse. "As you wish," I ground out, turning and stalking into the lab room.

I entered the lab and saw Susie bent near a kid named Daniel Jenkins and his partner. Her finger trailed along the edge of a beaker, probably explaining basic counting skills to him, but he didn't pay attention, focused instead on the line of her blouse—even modestly high cut as it was.

I could intrude upon the dashing Mr. Jenkins and his consort, and then wouldn't Susie be surprised. But I wasn't going to break my 'defying the laws of universal gravity' streak now. Besides, I had just spotted the perfect pair. A shy English major girl and a too-cool-for-school goth kid. Perfect for manipulating and molding.

"Hi," I greeted, plopping into the seat next to them. They both, predictably, stared at me without a word. "Mr. Berkenstien assigned me to observe," I continued, undeterred.

And so I urged and encouraged, maybe switched a vial with another vial, told Mr. Black Soul to go ahead and get lost in his screaming (music to him, I supposed). It gave me an undeniable satisfaction to watch the room fill with green smoke and a horrible smell. I inhaled a lungful, smiling blissfully, while next to me students were shrieking and covering their noses.

"Calvin!" the professor screeched. "I don't know how, but I know you're behind this!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Susie's POV

. . . . .

Maybe it was the coward's way out, but the idea of even passing by him on a campus sidewalk filled me such paralyzing fear I knew I couldn't stay and continue to live how I was—if you could call it living.

It wasn't running. It was starting over.

His play premiered in two weeks. And I couldn't . . .

He was one of the literature professors; I'd never had a class from him. Anyway, it wasn't like I needed to flirt my way into better academic standing. Good grades had never been an issue. But sweet nothings whispered in my ear late at night, after I'd rattled off (correctly) all the answers to Jeopardy . . . that was something I hadn't experienced before.

For all my brains, I was an idiot. And that—realizing I hadn't been smart enough to see around it—hurt worse than the hollowness in my heart.

No. I was starting over.

I was _not _a victim.

Even if thinking about opening night and a theater full of people watching my pain unfold as someone's creative inspiration filled me with a kind of hurt I had no vocabulary to describe and incapacitated me in all ways humanly possible.

"Excuse me," I stopped a boy deep in observation of the bulletin boards and asked him where to find the dorm I was going to be living out the rest of the year. Back at Harvard, Justin and I had shared a loft. Now I couldn't afford much better than on-campus dorms. I wasn't looking forward to the transition, but I was, if nothing else, adaptable. And optimistic. And _not _a victim.

With a flustered smile and half-crooked glasses, he pointed me in the right direction. I thanked him and left, carefully skirting around any opportunity for further introduction.

With a single suitcase and a duffel bag, I opened the door to C13, and stepped inside. The poignant smell of incense hit my nose and my eyes watered. A girl with blue-spiked hair sat on the left bed, headphones on, with the volume up so loud that I could hear the graphic lyrics as clear as if it were playing on a stereo.

She looked up at me, bored, and I smiled awkwardly. "I'm Susan," I said. As was expected, she didn't hear me, but to give her credit, she did pull the headphones off, glaring at me to repeat myself.

"I'm Susan," I said again.

"Junie B. Jones," she said. "The B stands for Beatrice but I better not hear you ever call me Beatrice. Try not to touch my art and we'll be cool."

"Hi . . . Junie."

She already had her headphones back in and continued to ink up the front of her already decorated backpack.

Shoulders slumping, I put my stuff on the bed, deciding to unpack when I was alone. I bit my lip and quickly grabbed my jacket before any tears could spill and decided to take a walk to clear my head.

. . . . .

I muttered a curse under my breath as I turned another corner and became even more clueless than I had been. My first class of the day, and I was going to be late, for no other reason simply than I was lost. Even though I was the equivalent of a freshman, I was old enough to be a senior. I felt like an idiot.

Ten minutes later, I finally found the correct room number and burst inside. I felt my cheeks flame as all heads turned toward me. I apologized, embarrassed.

I'd applied for a job before leaving Harvard, interviewing for several Teacher's Assistants positions. Chemistry wasn't my strongest subject, but then again, there was no such thing as a _weak _subject on my resume and with more than enough impressive credentials, I'd quickly been hired.

I followed the students into the chemistry lab and was immediately gestured over by a student. He was an athletic looking boy, with light brown, curly hair. _Not bad,_I thought, just as he high-fived his friend and sent a suggestive wink toward me. _Maybe not._My stomach clenched unpleasantly, but I tried to smile anyway. It was a simple experiment, one I'd already done quite a few times—a simple mixing of ingredients, with little possibility of mishap. Even so, Daniel (as he introduced himself) proved to need more than little coaxing to get him through it. As he attempted to measure sodium chloride, another student walked into the room with a languid stride.

He didn't walk by our table, but I caught a glance at his face. Something about the testy green eyes and unruly blonde hair set my memory on edge, but before I could remember, something wet landed in my lap. I gasped and jumped in my seat, looking down at the empty beaker spilled on the table, its contents now all over my jeans.

"Oh man!" Daniel said. "I'm so sorry! Do you need to use the shower? Maybe you should take off your pants before it gets on your skin . . ."

Willing my temper down to manageable levels, I smiled at him, hoping he could see the cold sarcasm curving my lips. "Daniel, sodium chloride is salt. You spilled salt water on me."

"Oh." He seemed disappointed.

Five minutes later, I was willing the clock to move faster than not at all, when an eye-watering scent filled the air, closely followed by a soft green mist. I choked and covered my nose, while loud shouts of complaint filled the air.

"_Calvin!"_The professor's furious voice bellowed from the other side of the room. "I don't know how, but I know you're behind this!"

Calvin . . .? Flashes of a mischievous blonde boy and his stuffed tiger flashed through my mind. Surely not the Calvin I knew . . . I glanced over to where everyone was looking, the girls with a mixture of disgust and shyness, and the boys with grins of approval. The blonde-haired boy I'd seen walk in was doing a very poor job of looking demure, leaning back in his chair as the beaker next to him oozed the putrid smell.

The carefully smug features were too familiar to be anyone else. He remained unaffected as the professor gripped his shoulder and marched him out of the room. The scene was all too familiar. As they passed by me, Calvin caught my eye and bizarrely, my heart stilled. Did he recognize me?

"Nice seeing you, Susie," he said breezily. I could only manage to gape after them as they left.

"Outside, don't leave!" The professor barked at us as the door closed behind him. It was a mob as everyone tried to escape the smell. We waited in the hall only a few minutes before the professor returned, putting angered mutters to my thoughts.

"That kid! It was a sodium chloride mixture! How did he manage…" He paused, scratching his bald head, "Maybe with the… no… no, there's no way he could know that! That's advanced chemistry!"

With a shake of his head, he excused us all, saying we'd finish the lab next week.

"Calvin is such a jerk," a blonde girl snapped bitterly. "My clothes are totally ruined. I bet he did it on purpose."

"Duh," her Beyonce-like friend snorted. "Like he would half-explode the chem lab on accident."

"I mean _to me. _I bet it was to get back at me."

"Uh-huh. Calvin wanted to get back at you for asking _him _out? Because you're the center of his universe, of course."

"Oh please," the blonde argued with distaste, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. "I hate Calvin."

Her friend rolled her eyes. "He makes you nuts. And horny. And the whole thing makes _me _nauseous."

The rest of their conversation was lost to me as they went down the opposite hall. I smiled to myself. Some things never changed. Of course, back in middle school none of the pretty girls were really bothered that Calvin paid them little attention. He had been the weird, gross kid that had yet to hit his growth spurt. Apparently, that was not the case anymore.

"Hey, Suze!"

A nickname. Great.

Hiding my grimace, I turned to face Daniel and his sidekick friend. "Hey, there's going to be a party tomorrow night," he handed me a badly copied orange flyer. "You should come."

I gave him a strained smile. "I'll see if I can."

"Sweet, see you there." Daniel and his friend lumbered off and I scanned over the paper with half-hearted interest. It was in one of the dorm apartments. I couldn't imagine a dorm room would fit many people—comfortably anyway. I moved to drop it in a near-by trash can, but at the last minute stuffed it into my bag. Parties never much interested me, but distractions in the form of cheap alcohol did.

Back in my room, as much as I tried to concentrate on my homework, Calvin kept creeping into my thoughts. I wondered what he was doing, then I wondered what he was studying at NYU, then I wondered if he had a girlfriend.

I didn't know why I was so curious. What did I care what he'd done with his life? Maybe I was so lonely _any _familiar face sounded nice, even Calvin's. Maybe next Chem class I could ask him to lunch . . . or something equally awkward.

"Dude." Junie B. Jones turned her book around to me. "Check it out." On the glossy pages was an illustration of Guiness's Most Pierced Woman.

"How . . . nice."

"I know." Junie turned back to her book, head bobbing to music.

. . . . .

The next morning as I pulled on my jacket, Calvin was still on my mind. By this point, it was getting kind of irritating. Determined to think of something else, I headed out on a walk. It had only been three minutes, but I was doing good, choosing to brood over Justin and my recently wounded heart and pride. And then, ironically, who should I see seated lazily beneath a tree, reading? Calvin.

I stopped on the sidewalk, watching him. He was clearly immersed in whatever book he was reading. A part of me wanted to hurry and keep walking, but the bigger part of me was drawn almost desperately to the happy times of childhood. And so, unable to resist, I crossed over the grass to where he sat. He didn't glance up, oblivious.

"The Greatest Philosophies of the World?" I asked, squinting down at the huge, leather-cased book.

His eyes snapped up in blatant surprise. I smiled, he blinked, and then quickly and smoothly, he was composed charm. "Yep," he replied. "Shaking the world one over-elaborate metaphor at a time."

"May I?" I reached down for his book. He made a noise of protest, trying to shut it, but I snatched it up before he could get it out of my reach. "Let's see…" I sat next to him and flipped through pages. My fingers slowly stilled. "All the pages are blank," I said, looking at him. He watched me stiffly.

"Not all," he said.

Brow furrowed, I turned back to the book. As I flipped to the beginning pages, scrawled handwriting began to appear. Tiny, cramped handwriting written in short passages, never longer than a paragraph or two and all signed, _Dr. Calvin._

Before I could read any of it, the book was slammed shut as Calvin quickly took it back, shoving it into his backpack.

"Sorry," I said, taken aback.

He turned from his backpack and an easy smile appeared. "Don't be," he said. "But I can hardly have you memorizing potentially valuable thoughts. I don't want you getting rich off of my genius."

I raised an eyebrow. His exaggeratedly grave tone was so deliberate, I giggled. He frowned, offended, which only made me laugh harder.

Biting my lip, I glanced over in time to see his crooked grin. He shifted it into a glare once he saw me looking.

I gave him a small smile, studying him. "It's been a while, Calvin."

"About a lifetime," he agreed softly.

It fell silent, creeping dangerously toward awkward, so I spoke quickly. "Hey," I said, "There's a party tonight, are you going?"

The expression he gave me would have been comical if I hadn't already known he was serious. "I'm not much of a party-goer," he said slowly, politely trying to mask his disgust.

"That's okay," I replied. "I'm not really either, but I think I'll go to this one so I can get to know more people." He raised an eyebrow at me. "You should come, if you, um…can."

"I'll think about it," was the only reply I got. I figured it was the best I was getting.

"Well." I glanced to the side. "I have class in fifteen minutes, so… I guess I'll see you around?"

"Sure," he replied, and I could sense his doubt.

"Bye Calvin."

"Bye Susie."


	3. Chapter 3

Calvin's POV

. . . . .

I could walk the entire length of our apartment in 5.4 seconds. I'd discovered this about the twenty-seventh time I'd paced from one side to another.

I sat down to work on my literary analysis of Lord of the Flies and the moment I typed my name in the upper right hand corner, I thought,

_The party's probably dumb._

No, I corrected myself, it _is_dumb. As parties always were.

_But Susie will be there._

Lord of the Flies was one of my favorite books. I always imagined it would be fun to be stranded on an island, the dictator of my fellow, far less intelligent comrades. Never mind the hidden context of insanity and cruelty.

I couldn't concentrate at all. I dated my paper and thought,

_What if I just stopped by for a minute?_

A minute could turn into a fatal allotment of time in the massive sea of drunk, hormonal young adults, but it could also pass without serious event. Was I willing to take the risk?

On my way back to my apartment, I had seen the orange flyer sticking up on one of the bulletin boards. It now sat on my desk, crumpled and wrinkled from my mental indecision. My fingers tapped restlessly on the edge of my laptop as I stared at it. Finally, I gave an exasperated sigh and snatched it up angrily, as if it were the flyer's fault I had to deal with this.

I read the address and committed it to memory. That dorm number wasn't very far from my apartment. I dropped my forehead onto the keyboard. A loud beeping noise protested too many keys being pressed at one time, but I didn't move, relishing in my miserable state. I sat up with a resigned (though considerably unhappy) determination and little square imprints on my forehead.

I shut the laptop and walked into my room, shutting the door behind me. Several outfits were already laid on my bed. Bewildered, I turned to Hobbes, who was still scouting my closet with one eye closed in deep scrutiny.

"I was thinking the black," he said, a little too chipper for my sour mood. "It makes you look like a double agent."

I growled. "Why do I need to dress up? I'm not going anywhere."

He shrugged. "Well, could you look like a double agent down at Thrifty Mart? We're out of tuna."

Rolling my eyes, I snatched up the black outfit he'd laid out and went into the bathroom to change. I came out, not exactly putting James Bond to shame, but at least it wasn't the faded comic book t-shirt I'd had on. I paused on my way out, glancing back at Hobbes. "You sure you won't be lonely?"

"Lonely? I thought you were just going to Thrifty Mart."

Wiseass.

"Right."

I left and jogged out of our apartment, down the stairs and into the street. Owning a car in New York wasn't worth the money unless you were rich, and it certainly wasn't needed on campus. And anyway, I had a lot of tuna to work off.

It only took me five minutes to reach the designated dorm room and even before I arrived I could see throngs of people: in parking lots, on the stairs and overcrowding the lit up room. I could hear the music half a block away.

I walked the stretch of the filled up parking lot and headed up the stairs, weaving my way through oblivious couples and equally oblivious singletons. Few people realized, but large parties were more intimate than small gatherings. The door of the large dorm room was wide open for people to filter in and out of.

I stood several feet away, rocking against my heels as I waited. I wasn't sure what I was waiting for. For Susie to magically appear? The courage to venture into the unknown? I didn't know, but I was starting to feel like an idiot just standing there. Taking a breath, I pushed my way into the large room.

Instantly, the strong smell of cheap alcohol and human sweat covered by dozens of different perfumes and colognes hit my nose and made my eyes water. People were _everywhere,_touching nearly every part of me. Awkward. And yet, I seemed to be the only one sharing the sentiment. I carefully weaseled my way away from a girl who was fascinated with the left side of my leg and made my way into a kitchen area, which was still crowded, but not as bad.

"Drink?" someone asked me, holding out a plastic Dixie cup filled nearly to the brim with frothy beer.

"Is there any water around here?" I asked, my nose wrinkling.

I wasn't surprised by the laughter I received as an answer. I took the cup anyway, and dumped it down the sink. Probably, it wouldn't make any difference. But maybe that cup would keep someone from a buzz to intoxicated driving.

"My, my, the philosopher of the times graces us with his presence for once."

I turned. "Hello, Veronica," I said.

"Hello, Calvin." She smirked. She was stunning with perfected make-up and an outfit that could ignite pheromones quicker than it took her to flip her shiny, blonde locks over her shoulder. I supposed she might have been pretty beneath the getup.

"What draws you out of your lab, doctor?" She had a sultry, smooth voice that would have been sexy if hadn't sounded so unnatural and practiced.

"I was invited," I replied simply, "and it was an offer I couldn't refuse."

Veronica had invited me to parties before. I'd never gone. I wasn't the only one that remembered. Her eyes narrowed, but that no-warmth smile still curved her lips. "How nice."

"If you'll excuse me…" I tried to push past her, starting to prefer the dancing horde to a conversation with Veronica. She stopped me with a polished hand on my chest.

"Why don't you join me on the dance floor?" she said.

_Not on your life._

"Um…" I searched for a way to politely decline. I grabbed her wrist with as little contact as possible and peeled her hand off of me. "Look, I'm not really interested—"

My reluctance didn't deter her. "I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend," she drawled in a condescending way that made me feel stupid. She used her other hand and hooked my belt in her finger, quite literally pulling me along by my pants to the dance floor. "I just want to dance."

I stuttered slightly, trying to protest, but my usually dazzling wit failed me. Of course it was the only time I really needed it that I couldn't even manage a simple 'no'. And so, against my will, we danced. Or rather, I stood there, feeling uncomfortable and miserable, and she did some weird gyrating thing around me. I didn't even pay attention.

Especially because halfway through, I spotted Susie.

She was doing the same thing as me; namely, looking awkward and sort of moving her shoulders while some jerk-off danced around her. People were moving and bumping and there were a lot of them between us, but I tried to keep her within my line of sight.

When was the song over? How could you tell? It all sounded the same. Finally, the song had a brief pause before launching into the next raunchy beat. I had been painfully waiting and that pause was all I needed to escape. I broke through the crowds, leaving a bewildered and likely furious Veronica behind, but Susie was nowhere to be found. I turned a full circle, looking for her, but couldn't see her anywhere in the room.

There was a hallway near the spot where she'd been dancing and I shouldered my way toward it. But as I entered the hall, it was dark and empty. The rooms were closed and I found myself hoping that wasn't where she'd gone. I almost called her name, before I realized . . .

What was I doing, frantically searching for her? And why? I wouldn't have even known what to say if I had found her. "Oh, hey Susie. Yeah… that was me screaming your name across the room. What did I want? Oh, um…nothing. Just, hi. Uh, nice seeing you here."

I tugged a hand through my hair. "Pathetic," I muttered under my breath. I was going home.

"Calvin?"

I whipped around, half-tripping over myself, half-running into the wall. "Susie?"

Wow. I didn't even know my voice could reach that high of an octave anymore.

"You came," she said, smiling brightly. She looked so honestly happy to see me that I melted. I would have gone to a thousand parties if she'd asked me to in that second.

"Yeah." It was only that one second, and then I got a hold of my senses, thank whatever god I had yet to believe in.

It grew silent between us, definitely awkward, but I wasn't going to the one to break it with a lame comment about her hair or something. It was nice though. She'd worn it down, and it fell past her shoulders.

"So, it's kind of lame, huh?" She half-smiled at me. It was dark, but it looked like she might be blushing. Maybe she was embarrassed that she had invited me in the first place.

"It's not so bad."

It was torture. What the hell?

She gave me a dubious look. "I guess…"

"Do you want to get out of here? I know a place that's not so lame."

I surprised both of us. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch and she blinked. I didn't say anything. I really hoped I didn't look hopeful or pleading or something equally retarded.

"Sure, yeah," she said slowly, her eyes brightening with that damn smile.

"Great," I said and we walked outside together. I changed my mind about cars not being worth the money when we reached the parking lot and she started looking around. Some nice wheels to drive fair lady around in would have been nice.

"Uh, we're walking," I interrupted her search, playing it off with like, why _wouldn't_we be walking? Duh.

"Oh, good," she said. "It's nice out."

Hmm. Taking a walk when it was 'nice out' sounded a little too romantic for me, but I didn't comment on her description. I led the way and we headed away from campus. We were side by side, but the space between us could have accommodated a fidgety Hobbes.

"Do you like sushi?" I asked.

She glanced over at me hesitantly, eyeing me as if to judge what I thought of sushi first. Judging by the slight crinkle of her nose and the doubtful furrow of her eyebrows, she wasn't a fan.

I smiled. "I'm not either," I said before she could answer. "But I know this sushi place that makes the _best_burgers. Originally they served them only as a simple second option, but now they're more popular than the actual sushi."

She chuckled. She didn't launch into a giggly explanation about how funny that was, as if I, the person who told her, didn't already know. In fact, she didn't say anything, content with the silence for the moment. She was different from most girls.

"What are you majoring in?" she asked me.

"I'm a double-major. Philosophy and psychology."

"Wow, that's quite the plateful."

I shrugged. "I suppose. I've seen worse. Why did you transfer from Harvard?"

For a moment, she looked shocked, even a little fearful, but then she seemed to remember that she had announced that little tidbit in our Chemistry class, which I was no longer a part of. She laughed uneasily. "I just needed a change of scenery." She said it lightly, but I didn't miss the dark shadow that passed through her honey-brown eyes.

I nodded mutely.

"Here we are," I said, stopping in front of the door of the tiny sushi shop. It was hidden, poorly lit in the overcrowded street of commerce. A broken sign had the alternately flashing words, _SUSHI BAR._If you didn't know it was there, you would miss it. She looked intrigued and I held the door open for her and we walked in together.

The little space was jam-packed with Japanese memorabilia. Some of the decorations hanging from the ceiling were low enough that you had to maneuver not to hit your head.

"Wong!" I called, approaching the bar counter.

Wong, a 400 pound Chinese man pretending to Japanese bumped his way to where we stood, me grinning and Susie smiling with sweet uncertainty. "Calvin!" he boomed with a thick accent. "You been gone too long! Should I make usual order?"

"Two, if you don't mind."

"Ah. Lady friend." He winked, nudging me suggestively. I gave Susie an apologetic smile and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. I motioned for her to follow me, and I led us to a corner booth, hidden in the hidden little sushi café'. It was noisy. Despite the growing amount of customers, they had yet to move to a bigger space, and the amount of people shoved in there made for little privacy. Or a lot of privacy, depending on how you chose to see it.

A short waitress with a bun brought us drinks. As Susie sipped hers, she watched me. I tensed under the thoughtful stare. I was about to ask her what was so fascinating when she spoke, quietly, "I still can't believe it's you. After all these years. Do your parents still live in town?"

"Yeah. Yours?"

"No, they moved upstate."

"Oh." I guess that would explain why I never saw her on holiday when I visited my folks.

"How's Hobbes?" she teased with a wink.

"He's good," I replied with a slight smile. She paused, her smile faltering for a moment but then she brightened. Brightened? What kind of word was that? It was the only one that fit. Her face was like a light bulb.

"Good."

Suddenly, her phone rang. Despite all the noise, the majority of the room turned to look at us. Flushing, she flipped it open without looking at the caller id. "Hello?"

I watched as the light bulb went out and the color drained from her face, leaving it a pasty white. She listened for only a moment before snapping, "Don't call me again, Justin." And hung up on him.

Her cheeks pink, she put the phone back in her purse, avoiding me as I stared at her through narrowed eyes. An old boyfriend? The thought of Susie with a boyfriend bothered me, though I didn't know why it would, or why I'd be surprised.

"Who was that?" I asked, when it became clear she had no intention of telling me herself.

"Uh, nobody… just this kid I tutor. He got a little close one time and I signed him up for a new tutor. Don't worry, he's harmless. Just annoying."

Right. Annoying enough to make you lose all the blood in your face and your eyes to dilate?

Rule number one: Never lie to a psychology major.

I took a swig of my own drink. "Sounds like Justin has some boundary issues."

She gave a derisive snort that bordered on a sob and shook her head. She still wouldn't meet my eyes. "I guess you could say that." She swallowed and was suddenly very fidgety. Her hands twisted and twitched and wrung themselves dry. When our burgers were set in front of us, she didn't touch hers. Her lack of appetite sufficiently smothered mine.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Oh, what? Um, yeah. Fine." She was practically shaking now. "Actually, I think I feel a little sick. I think I'm going to go home."

I chose not to acknowledge the wave of disappointment that hit me. "Okay, I'll walk you home."

"No!" She protested so adamantly that I froze, eyes wide. "No," she repeated softer. "I just need some fresh air."

And some time alone, were the unspoken words. I barely found the will to nod, watching her as she ran outside and into the night. I poked at my burger and took a bite. It tasted like sludge. I asked for a 'To Go' box for Hobbes and then left myself.


	4. Chapter 4

Susie's POV

. . . . .

It was Saturday. I had been lying in my bed staring at the ceiling since last night. I hadn't moved, or fallen asleep. Junie actually tried to talk to me once, at one point, but I had demonstrated the same efforts of friendliness she'd shown me when we first met.

Again and again the phone call echoed through my mind.

"_Hey babe,"_he'd said, just like he used to, "_Listen, I miss you, and I was thinking that—"_

I'd interrupted him there and hung up. I tried to sound furious, but really I was terrified. Terrified because when I heard his voice, I didn't feel disgusted or bitter or even scared, I felt pathetically glad to hear him. I was hopeful. He'd called me, perhaps things were different . . .

Things _weren't _different, and I remembered in time. But I'd still had them, however brief they'd been.

I gave an involuntary shiver beneath my blankets. _Why?_

The healthy thing to do would be to throw darts at his picture, egg his stupid red Volvo. But I felt no hate. Only sadness, and . . . longing.

Bastard.

I turned over, burying my face into my pillow. Maybe I could suffocate myself. As I breathed in the smell of fabric and dried tears, a new face appeared behind my eyelids.

Calvin.

I sat up, blinking a little. I'd forgotten about Calvin. We were only at the sushi bar for maybe five minutes, and then I ditched him. I winced. Poor guy. I did feel a little bad. I couldn't very well explain myself, but maybe… I should apologize.

I rolled out of bed, albeit reluctantly. I made it to the bathroom, if not for Calvin, then at least for the sake of my poor bladder. After I'd relieved myself, I turned on the shower and let the steam permeate my brain and the water roll down my skin until it was no longer hot.

Towel wrapped around my head, I shrugged into my robe and padded back to my room. Junie looked tempted to complain about me using all the hot water, but one look at my still-lamenting-my-miserable-life face and she wisely thought better of it.

It took me two full hours of sulking and shuffling around to get fully dressed and ready. Then I looked up Calvin's address in the student directory and skulked and shuffled outside. The weather was nice. It wouldn't be for long. Winter came quick and brutal in New York.

I found Calvin's apartment complex and walked up two flights of iron-wrought stairs to his floor. 316 was his number. I had it memorized, though I hadn't meant to. As I approached the door, I could hear some kind of banging, or possibly wrestling, coming from inside. Hesitantly, I knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked louder.

This time, the mini-warfare sounds faded. I waited for another minute, a soft breeze tugging my hair off my jacket collar. Finally, the door opened. Calvin's expression was a mixture of irritation and reluctance, but upon seeing me, it quickly shifted into one of horror. My own face wasn't much different. Because Calvin was shirtless. Well, okay, maybe I wasn't exactly _horrified,_but I was surprised. The black and red war paint decorating his face didn't help much. His eyes widened. It took a few painfully long seconds for both of us to absorb each other's presence, and then he slammed the door in my face.

I blinked once at the engraved _316_on his door, letting my brain fully process. And then I promptly started banging on the door again.

"Calvin! Hey, come on—I need to talk to you! Open the door!"

I was ignored. I muttered angrily under my breath. Calvin wasn't a scrawny thirteen year old anymore. For some reason, I couldn't get this new little tidbit out of my head. I knocked furiously, as if to pound the image away. "Calvin, if you don't open this do…"

The door opened, my fist left rapping uselessly at the air. Calvin had a dark knit sweater on now. His face was clear, his cheeks and nose pink from hasty scrubbing.

"Hi," I stammered.

"Hi," he said. Neither of us mentioned his lack of shirt only moments before. And if he wasn't going to, then I certainly wasn't going to.

"Um, can I come in?"

He hesitated, looking pained. "Actually…" he drug out the word."I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Look, I know you must be mad about last night, but I came to apologize."

"Apology accepted. See you later?"

"Calvin." I gave him a flat look. "Just let me come in. Please?"

"Define 'in'. Is the doorway good enough?"

I eyed him. "Are you . . . hiding something?"

"No." The response wasn't guilty, rushed or otherwise uncomfortable. In fact, it was very nearly perfect in its execution of calmness and nonchalance. Too perfect.

"Nice try, psychology major, but I don't buy it."

His mouth opened and I pushed by him. He made a flustered, half-hearted attempt to stop me, but I was already inside.

"Whoa." My eyebrows arched as I took in the condition of his front room. "What happened in here?"

Chairs were over turned, there were a few splatters of paint on the wall. Throw pillows were hanging limp in random places and paper money was strewn everywhere. In the center of the room was a table, an askew fold out of Monopoly spread across the top.

I glanced at Calvin, bemused. "Quite the intense game of Monopoly," I said.

"I play to win," he told me with a somewhat forced grin.

I looked around. There were two chairs adjacent to the board game, but I didn't see any roommates anywhere. Monopoly was pretty difficult to play against yourself. My eyes traveled to the worn out loveseat. Nestled against the cushions was Calvin's old, stuffed tiger.

I gasped in delight. "Is that _Hobbes?"_ I rushed over, picking the stuffed animal up. Calvin watched me in a cautious and tense manner. Hobbes was exactly as I remembered, though the synthetic fur was more faded, the black marble eyes were scratched and his stitchings were loose in several places. There was red and black paint on his face.

"How cute," I cooed, playing with the tiger's tail. "I can't believe you still have this."

"Him."

"Huh?"

"Him. 'This' is precedent to an object. I can't believe you still have _him."_His voice had a dull note to it.

"Right," I corrected with a smile. "How silly of me. Sorry, Hobbes." I turned him over in my hands. "You're looking good. Your fur is a little faded though. Not quite the vibrant orange I remember."

Calvin stepped forward and snatched the stuffed animal from my hands. I glanced at him in surprise.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked quickly. "Or eat? Do you like tuna?"

"What? Oh, um… sure, okay."

"Great." He held Hobbes as if he were made of crystal diamond, not cheap cotton. "Just a sec." He strode down the hall and opened the door on the far right. He tossed the stuffed tiger inside and then turned back to me. "Follow me." He gestured like a ringmaster and led me to the kitchen.

He pulled out a chair and I sat down, watching as he rummaged through cupboards, pulling out a can of tuna and a jar of mayonnaise from the fridge. I glanced absently down the hall. If I tilted just a little on my chair, I could see into Calvin's room. It was messy, no surprise. I could see a Marvel comic book hero poster on one of his walls.

"What to drink?" Calvin asked me.

I turned back, smiling tentatively. "Whatever is fine."

"Orange juice it is."

He pulled out two plastic cups and began pouring the Tropicana. A flash of movement appeared in the corner of my eye. I turned. There was a tiger inside Calvin's room, a grown, tear-you-to-pieces jungle tiger, seated in front of the full-size mirror, twisting its head and looking for all the world as if it were examining it's fur.

"Omigod!" I leapt back, hitting my knee against the table top. When I looked again, the tiger was gone.

"What's the matter?" Calvin was looking at me with concern, balancing two drinks and a plate of tuna sandwiches in his hands.

I tried to regulate my breathing, my hand clutching my heart. "I just saw….there was…a _tiger_... in your room…"

"A tiger?" he repeated. "Like… my stuffed animal…?" He was confused.

"No, like an _actual_tiger…" I trailed off in embarrassment. I laughed, strained. "What am I saying? A real tiger in your room. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I must be more tired than I thought…"

I stopped talking when I caught a look at Calvin's face. It was sharp with intensity. I could almost see the gyros and wheels whizzing and churning behind his eyes.

"What?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably. He probably thought I'd gone off the deep end.

"Nothing." The force of his stare abated and he smiled. He swung into the seat next to me, setting down the sandwiches. I chewed mine carefully. Tuna and orange juice had never tasted so good.

"So, are you going to stop tutoring that kid?"

"What?" I asked for the second time in minutes, my mouth partially full of chewed sandwich. I swallowed.

His eyes narrowed. "The one that called you last night."

"Oh. Right. Uh, yeah… I'll have him switched." His eyes were like high powered x-rays and I was painfully conscious of every movement I made, certain I was betraying my secret with even the slightest blink.

"Right." He didn't believe me, that much was obvious, but was I supposed to say? He chugged his orange juice for a moment, and then of all things, pulled out that leather notebook of his and started writing in it.

I felt my cheeks flame. "Are you writing about me?" I asked, wondering why I cared.

He glanced up. _Don't flatter yourself,_was written all over his face. But, "Maybe," was what he said.

I scowled. "So, _Doctor_Calvin, what's the sorry state of my mental condition?"

"That would be the conclusion, wouldn't it? I haven't gotten that far yet."

"So you _are_writing about me."

He shrugged with indifference. I thought very seriously about throwing the rest of my tuna sandwich at him. More annoying was that fact that I kept remembering what he looked like without that snug sweater.

"You know," I said, desperate to turn the table on him. "You're no fun anymore."

He raised a dubious eyebrow.

He was really starting to irritate me, acting all high and mighty. Upon replaying my words, I admitted they sounded a little childish, but I didn't care. The new Calvin was too smart for his own good. I hated the idea of him—of anyone—seeing inside me to all the insecurities and fears.

"You're so serious. I mean, you were always kind of deep growing up, but at least you knew how to joke around."

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brow. His eyes were the color of spring and they darkened. "In case you've forgotten, _Susan, _you've seen me a matter of hours since you've been at NYU, and you don't know anything about me."

"That was my point," I replied, returning the glare. "So stop analyzing me." His eyes widened a fraction with surprise and I stood to my feet, sensing the tension that had split the air between us.

"Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for running out on you last night."

"I wish you would tell me why."

I glanced down at him, surprised to see concern in his eyes.

I gave a forced smile. "But I barely know you." I grabbed my jacket off the chair and walked from the room, slamming his front door behind me and briskly descending the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

Calvin's POV

. . . . .

"And you know what else I think?" I snapped, shifting down as we rounded the corner in a rather reckless fashion. I continued on without waiting for a response. "I think she hasn't had fun in _years._The very idea that she would accuse_me_ of not having fun anymore is outrageous. I mean, am I right?"

I glanced over to the passenger's seat. Hobbes had his eyes covered with his paws. "I think I miss our wagon," was his only reply.

I ignored him and pressed the gas pedal down a little further. We were only going about fifty, but in the crowded streets of New York, we may as well have been going eighty-five. We blasted past a stop sign and I drummed my fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.

The car was borrowed, a beat up Chevy. I had an agreement with a downtown garage. I test drove their refurbished cars for free, and in return I got some much needed therapy time. Driving helps me think. Relax. Well, driving with Hobbes, anyway. Alone didn't do much for me.

"Psychologically speaking, if someone entertains passionate thought for a prolonged period of time, than the topic of thought is generally something of weighted importance in the subject's mind. And Susie Derkins is not, has not, and will not ever be important enough to spend so much thought on—I can't believe I've even spent this much, because I don't care, I don't. And you know what? I'm done talking about it. I'm done."

"Do you think you could be done on the right side of the road?" Hobbes grumbled.

I swerved back and exhaled a loooooong breath, forcing my tensed shoulders to relax. I could pretend all I wanted. My little encounter with Susie, however short and meaningless it should have been, was bothering me. Not because how quickly I'd gotten angry over nothing, and not just because I couldn't stop thinking about it, or her in general, ever, but because . . . I was fairly sure that she had, against all odds, seen Hobbes.

The way that I see him.

It was weird. Even by my generous standards.

I sighed and pulled an illegal u-turn, pointing us in the direction of the park.

. . . . .

The grass was green and the sun shone down, high, bright and warm. The trees hadn't begun the wardrobe change of autumn. It was a beautiful day, especially for September. It would probably be the last of its kind until mid-April.

But it was crowded.

And in New York, where _wasn't_it crowded? The area of land was inadequate to the ratio of people it supported, and everything seemed to leak bodies. I fingered the worn stitching of a volleyball that had definitely seen better days. The only thing in the world I wanted to do right now was play Calvinball, but I didn't want to with all these people around. There were enough rolling hills, we probably could have gotten away with it, but I was embarrassed. And I hated that I was embarrassed.

"I hate not being a kid anymore," I said.

Hobbes' lean feline form quivered beside me, his face content and half-smiling in his sleep. I leaned down and buried my face in his side, scratching his stomach. A low purr rumbled from his throat.

Hobbes, in his way, had grown up with me. He no longer resembled the frolicking companion of an imaginative six-year-old, but rather the only real friend of a restless, bright and sarcastic college graduate.

And stupid Susie, and her being in my head all the time.

I rolled away from Hobbes and pulled out my notebook.

_September 21— _

_in·fat·u·a·tion in fàchoo áysh'n_

_(plural in·fat·u·a·tions)_

_n_

_thoughtless passion: a great, often temporary, and irrational passion for somebody or something_

_Really despise the idea of being infatuated with anyone, but may have to admit self victim to its trappings. It does, after all, say__irrational__passion. Not that feelings for her are passion, by any means. More like a "I tolerate you more than the rest of this sniveling race" kind of thing._

_(Note to self: Write future references to Susie and lack-of-passion for her in code, as a certain-tiger-that-will-not-be-named thinks it's his business to read highly intelligent journal and then proceed with a series of names that will not be recorded at this time)_

_Hmm._

_Am troubled that I seem to put significance on her opinion. Do not care about anyone's opinion, because own opinion is far superior to everyone's._

_Reasons Susie left Harvard (purely experimental curiosity, has nothing to do with the fact that it's Susie):_

_Flunked out: Not likely._

_No money: What? No scholarships for the next woman president's last semester? Besides, her dad was(is?) a doctor._

_Other reasons: Yes._

_Other reasons? Making a statement about something? NYU offers something that Harvard does not (unlikely probability, as she did not know that I attended NYU at the time) Something bad happened at Harvard?_

_Will investigate further._

—_Dr. Calvin_

_P.S. Have just realized have written almost two pages on Susie Derkins. Will find new, and better, subject matters soon._

Being outside in the sun didn't seem to be helping my mood any. "Hey, buddy," I asked softly. "You ready to go?"

He lifted his head, glared at me, and arched his back in a cat-like stretch, before plopping back onto the grass.

"Oookaaay then."

I surrendered and stretched out beside him, content to lose myself to the hypnotic lull of the warm sun on my face. In the next moment, my eyes shot open and I sat up. A slow smile spread on my face. I grabbed my notebook and wrote:

_New idea, brilliance of which is astonishing and will surely cure this supposed "infatuation."_

. . . . .

I let Hobbes go first. I didn't know if his feline senses were really as great as he thought they were, but I was no James Bond either.

In my personal experience, there was only one way to justify thinking about Susie for any certain amount of time, and that was to make her miserable.

So.

"Coast clear?" I asked in a very audible stage whisper, sticking my head around the corner. Hobbes, crouched low and dangerous (probably for show more than actual effect), continued to inspect the door that led into Susie's apartment.

"It's empty," he told me, a bit smugly, standing up.

"Great," I replied, and left my hiding spot. I reached the door and nearly collided with someone else. Someone who, unlike me, was trying to use a key to get inside. For one terrible instant, I thought it was Susie and felt an odd rush of panic and delight. (_Delight?_Wtf?)

But the person staring at me in flat annoyance was not Susie. She was short, probably five two, and glaring at me beneath green eye shadow. Her eyes flickered downward once. The image she saw shimmered briefly in front of my eyes—a ratty, stuffed tiger perched at the feet of a red faced, blonde-haired young man—and then was gone. My Hobbes watched her tentatively, trying, I thought, to determine if that really was a collar around her neck.

"Can I help you?" she finally asked. I'd been told to go to hell with more warmth.

"Uh, yeah," I said, faking an uneasy smile. I knew the type. No respect unless respect was given; screw authority and screw you, pal. I glanced at my shoes in a fairly convincing show of shyness. "I know Susan, and I… well, I left my bag pack in her room."

Art girl squinted at me. "Suze never has boys over," she said.

This fact, for some inexplicable reason, made my heart give a happy little surge. Ignoring it, I arched both brows meaningfully. "You weren't there," I explained slowly, my tone turning somewhat suggestive.

Her eyes widened with understanding. "Oh," she said, and appraised me with new eyes. So schoolboy wasn't always wholesome, her expression said. She was liking me more and more by the second.

"Neither were you," Hobbes didn't fail to remind me, rolling his eyes.

"You can come in then," she said with a shrug. I beamed and stepped on Hobbes foot as I followed her inside. "I'm Junie B. Jones, by the way."

The room was a typical dorm room, with no wall separating the two beds. The difference between the two sides stuck out like two opposing seasons, though. Abstract art and obscure music bands draped itself over art girl's side like a warped rainbow. Susie's side was neat, pleasant and very… her. Whatever that meant. But I knew.

"I'll just look around then," I told Junie Must-Announce-Her-Middle-Initial Jones, who watched me with her arms crossed over her chest like a fish-netted shield.

"Whatever," she sniffed.

I pretended to search under and around Susie's bed. I almost gave in to the urge to pause and inhale the light cinnamon scent and something else that I couldn't place, but was soft, and started my heart doing that surge-flutter thing again. Embarrassed, I caught myself, and continued shifting around the blankets, looking for a backpack that wasn't there.

"So, you have a stuffed animal?" Junie asked, eyeing Hobbes.

There was a time when I might have been embarrassed and muttered some lame excuse about my mom or a pretend little sister, or something. But now… I just wasn't.

"Yep," I said. My lips made a popping noise on the 'p'. Hobbes gave me a Look, only mildly offended. He was as used to it as I was.

Junie didn't reply at first. I hadn't come off challenging in my reply, like, "And whattaya gonna do about it?" It was a simple fact, like telling her my hair was blonde.

"That's cool," she said, to my surprise.

From my pocket, I slipped my treasure out as discreetly as possible. I put it under Susie's pillow and stood to my feet. "I guess it's not here," I said.

"What's your name again?" she asked.

Er.

"You don't need to tell Susie I dropped by," I said uncertainly.

"I won't," she said, lips curling. "But what's your name?"

This was probably dumb, but I didn't have a Plan B in mind. "Calvin."

"A pleasure, Junie B. Jones," I said, with a slight incline of the head. Her behavior had been orderly enough so far, but now she might think we were on the verge of true friendship and endeavor to bond. I snatched up Hobbes and walked out with a quick, "See you later, then."

. . . . .

We walked back to our apartment, the Chevy back at the garage.

"When Susie finds out what you did, she'll think it was Junie B. Jones," Hobbes said. "And then she'll say you stopped by."

"I should have used a fake name," I said, wondering why I didn't feel particularly concerned.

"If you didn't want to get caught," Hobbes added, and not for the first time in my life, I sensed a double-meaning.

"Yeah."

Wait. Cue light-bulb. Did I want her to catch me? Perish the thought.

Except, yeah.

Maybe…a little, I did.

Stupid Hobbes.


	6. Chapter 6

Susie's POV

. . . . .

The pleasant warmness of yesterday had faded with the cool, sweeping wind of fall. I tugged my long coat tighter around me, wishing I'd thought to bring a scarf. But how was I to predict New York weather? It had been sunny less than twenty four hours ago. The trees looked pretty though. Only the tips of the leaves were starting to yellow, a few hasty go-getters already flitting to the ground.

I leaned back against the trunk of one of said trees, gazing across campus grounds. People moved alone and in laughing groups. Some walked, some biked, still others ran, books crammed haphazardly in their arms. I saw Calvin immediately, surprised my eyes had drawn to him so naturally. With the wind, his already unruly hair shifted to one side, bits of it falling into his face.

He seemed apart from everyone, somehow. An outcast, but estranged by his own choice. Hobbes hung limp over his shoulder, scratched black eyes staring lifelessly at the passing sidewalk. Then a crowd of girls passed in front of my view, and when I could see him again, a graceful tiger strode by his side, sinewy muscles shifting with each powerful step. And Calvin was talking to it. I watched, mouth dropping open in shock, as the tiger suddenly launched onto its hind legs and pushed a massive paw against Calvin's back, causing him to stumble forward. I blinked, and then Calvin was tripping over his own feet, no tiger in sight.

I pressed my fingers into my eyes, counting to five. I had gotten enough sleep last night, hadn't I? (Not really.) Perfect—I was losing my mind, and the only friend I had in this place, besides Junie B. Jones, was a nearly-certified-shrink. I dragged my fingers down my cheeks, and then jumped, startled, to find Calvin staring at me, hand on hip. I blushed, unable to help myself.

He broke contact first, glancing first at the ground and then to the side, his lips pressed together. He waited for a biker, and then headed in the opposite direction at a brisk pace.

"Calvin!" I called, running to him, skirting between commuters. He either didn't hear me or was purposely ignoring me. He didn't turn around. "Calvin." I finally reached him, grabbing onto his shoulder. He flipped around, eyes narrowed, and in the whipped movement, Hobbes slid forward off his shoulder.

"Oh!" I said, and reached out to catch the falling Hobbes. And then, inexplicably, I had to bend with the sudden weight in my arms. I glanced down at the huge, backward and upside down tiger I attempted to hold. I gasped and stumbled, both with surprise and because the tiger was too heavy for me. Calvin grabbed me before I hit the ground, scooping me away from the tiger and against his chest.

My heart shuddered at hummingbird speed, and being so close to Calvin wasn't helping. I shifted slightly, turning to glance down at the sidewalk...at Hobbes, a crumpled stuffed animal at our feet. _Hobbes?!_Hobbes was the tiger? Colors dotted my vision. I'd _felt_the fur between my fingers. Calvin's grip tightened around me as I swooned. He smelled like my childhood, and grass... and perhaps a hint of Tommy Hilifiger… My eyes fluttered and I did perhaps the most embarrassing thing in my life.

I fainted.

. . . . .

"Susie?"

I didn't open my eyes, but something inside me started to life at the sound of the familiar voice. It reminded me of happier times, of backyards, and Miss Wormwood.

"Susie, are you up yet?" The voice had a decided childish pleading to it, I thought, perhaps that was why I'd gone first to the days of elementary school. I groaned and blinked awake. Calvin's face swam into view.

"Hey there." He grinned in relief.

"Calvin?" I said, faintly surprised. I tried to sit up. "What…" I looked around at the unfamiliar room, at the bed I laid on. "Where am I?"

"My apartment," he replied, brows furrowing in concern. "Most people that faint come around after a minute or so, but you've been out almost half an hour. I was about to call the hospital." He paused, studying me. "Have you been sleeping?"

I ignored the question. "How did I get here?"

Calvin's smile faded slightly. "I carried you…"

"Oh." I flushed. "I, uh… geez, I'm sorry. I can't believe I did that. I don't usually faint."

Calvin smiled, the cool confidence to his lidded eyes all too irritating, especially combined with the smile filled with all too sincere kindness. When did _he_become the mature one? "I'll let you get your bearings. The bathroom is there if you need it." He pointed, and then sauntered from the room. Yes, _sauntered._I knew because I watched his…

What was wrong with me? I rested my hand over my forehead. I'd clearly lost a few brain cells in my unfortunate tumble. I pushed myself from the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, which looked like it had received a hasty cleaning job. I looked in the mirror and sighed with resignation. I was no Jessica Alba, but I didn't look too haggard. I splashed my face with some water and then left, searching out Calvin in the kitchen.

He met me with a steaming cup of coffee, which I took with a grateful murmur, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug and inhaling deeply. "Feel better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you." I glanced up and almost felt inclined to blush. "This is really nice of you, especially since I know we didn't part on the best of terms."

He raised an eyebrow, looking for the first time confused. "Oh. So… uh, you haven't been to your apartment, huh?"

I gave him an odd look. "Yes, I have." I was there last night, like every night. I'd gone to bed. Ate breakfast and taken a shower in the morning. As far as I'd known, nothing had been amiss.

"Hmm."

"Well, thanks again, Calvin. I should probably get back though. I have a lot of homework."

"I'll walk you home," he said, and grabbed a jacket off the back of a kitchen chair, shoving his arms through the sleeves as he walked to the door. I followed behind, my own jacket still on. Calvin had been a gentleman, not removing my coat. Or maybe he hadn't even thought about it, because he didn't think of me that way.

"Thanks," I muttered, shivering next to him as he locked the apartment door behind me. "I never see any of your roommates," I commented.

"I only have two," he replied. "Freshmen. I purposely chose two applicants I knew would be gone most of the time."

"How clever of you."

"I like to think so."

"I can't believe how chilly it is," I said, wrapping my arms around me. "It was so warm yesterday!"

Calvin snorted. "Welcome to New York."

After that, the conversation dwindled, and we walked in silence. I debated on telling what I'd seen, how I was sure Hobbes had become real in my arms, but I wasn't even convinced of it myself. And if I thought I might be crazy, what would Calvin think, with his stupid leather notebook?

Calvin, for his part, seemed too lost in his own thoughts to be much of a conversationalist anyway. His green eyes had grown dark and unfocused, clearly in a place not next to me as we walked through campus. When we reached my apartment door at last, he even blinked with surprise.

"Well. Goodbye." I held out a hand for him to shake.

He stared down at it, raising an eyebrow, but finally grabbed it, amusement crinkling his eyes. "This wasn't a business interview but…" He nodded mock-seriously, giving my hand one, firm shake. "Goodbye, Miss Derkins."

I removed my hand hastily, sticking it into my coat pocket, out of view. "Right. Bye."

"Bye," he said, already turned around. He lifted a hand over his shoulder in a half-hearted wave.

I fumbled with the key and unlocked the door, and stepped inside. "Hello? Junie?" I walked into the single space living area, Junie sat with her skull headphones over her ears, chewing on a paintbrush.

"You got something," she said, or rather, shouted over a deafening noise only she could hear. I nodded with a polite smile, and looked to the direction she jerked her head. A bouquet of roses decorated the center of the table, the rich red color almost seeming to glare at me. I walked over, numbly lifting the tag between my fingers.

_I need to see you. Love, Justin._

I took a step back, inhaling sharply. I hated to admit they were beautiful, but they were. They were also, I quickly reminded myself, a façade. A mask of glitter and finesse to hide his true nature. Justin was nothing if not charming, but it didn't change reality. I purposely turned my back on the flowers and marched to my bed. Junie watched me with calculating eyes, her music temporarily forgotten.

"Those from Calvin?" Her voice was at a normal volume, her headphones around her neck, the distant beat pulsing into the air.

"What?" My eyes snapped to her. "No—of course not." I eyed her suspiciously. "How do you know Calvin?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, but I didn't miss the gleam to her eyes. For some reason, I bristled at the thought of Junie showing an interest in Calvin. "No reason. He stopped by, but I didn't know if he was into you like that."

"I…oh." Calvin was here?

"He's kinda cute, you know? Like in a misguided schoolboy way."

"I guess," I said stiffly and removed my coat, hanging it neatly on the coat rack and slipping my shoes off. I plopped cross-legged on the bed and pulled out one of my textbooks with the intent of getting some homework finished, but the words on the pages blurred before my eyes after only a minute. I had just plopped back onto my pillows, claiming an early defeat, when Junie's ear-piercing scream made me bolt upright again.

At some point during my intent to actually study, Junie had gotten up to the bathroom, and that's where the scream came from. I hurried to my feet and opened the door. "What—what's wrong? Did you—" My jaw dropped and my eyes rounded to the size of dinner plates. The floor was covered in spiders and cockroaches and one very long, slimy snake that disappeared under the sink before my own scream had fully gurgled up my throat.

_"Omigodomigodomigod!"_I fluttered my hands as if I were frantically drying my nails and danced around on my feet.

"Gross! Oh god—sick!" Junie flailed too, and together, we panicked uselessly and clung onto each other and hopped up and down in horror and disgust. I'd never felt so close to her.

"This was probably Calvin!" she growled once we'd managed to scramble safely into the kitchen, shutting the bathroom door and sealing it with a towel on the bottom crack.

"What?" I gasped.

"When he came over!"

I froze, staring at her. His words floated back to my mind. _"Oh. So… uh, you haven't been to your apartment, huh?"_My eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

"I hate him! I'll kill him! I hate him!"

It was so childish—so immature! Where did he get off acting all calm and adult-like? He planted bugs in my apartment! It was like middle school all over again! I snatched my coat and stormed out of the door. "I'll be back!" I called over my shoulder, and then stopped.

What was I doing? I didn't have to feed his ego like this. If he wanted to pull stupid pranks, fine; I would certainly not stoop to his level. Old Susie from the days of childhood might have retaliated by freezing all of his underwear or toilet-papering his house, but I was a grown up now. A grown up who had almost graduated from Harvard, and I did not do _pranks._With a huff, I turned and marched back into my apartment, slamming the door behind me.


	7. Chapter 7

-Hobbes POV-

. . . . .

It's about time I had my say of things. As an impartial party who spends most of my time doing nothing but watching, my perspective is worth something. Of course, most of what I think (even though I'm _right)_goes undervalued. Granted that's because my audience is ninety-nine percent of the time Calvin.

One day I'll write a book. I'll call it, _A Tiger's Opinion on Mankind._I'll be delicate, but honest. Most of it won't be flattering. Calvin won't say it, but he gets most of his people-studying skills from me. There is no greater professor of people than simple and uninterrupted observation.

At NYU, he took classes telling him how to study people and had books giving him a specific title for specific actions. He agreed with me about the 'uninterrupted observation' thing, to an extent. He could watch, but he could never seem to watch unattached. He had an inexplicable talent of rerouting everything and everyone back to himself in some way or another.

He was in class and I was reading comic books. I would have preferred his 'psychological observations (of himself)' journal, but he knew me too well and had taken it with him.

Someone knocked on the door. I ignored it, and a few seconds later, the doorknob jiggled and rattled, and then Susie burst into the apartment, just visible from my position in Calvin's room, pocketing a hair pin and looking very pleased with herself. She tiptoed through the living room and peeked into the kitchen. Finding no one, she moved to Calvin's open bedroom.

"Calvin...?" she called uncertainly, before spotting me lounged on the bed. "You can keep a secret, right Hobbes?" It was the sort of comment people make to me when they're really talking to themselves. Except lately I got the feeling Susie saw me differently sometimes, and the tension in the look she gave me said she was thinking along the same lines.

"Don't worry," I said, though she couldn't hear me, "You're sane for today."

Susie perused the room, opening drawers, peeking in his closet and under his bed. Her nose wrinkled in a gagged expression more than once. "Disgusting. Hasn't he ever heard of a vacuum?" Pulling the top drawer of his dresser free, her face lit up in delight. "Jackpot!"

I sat up and craned my neck to see what treasure she had found.

Calvin's underwear drawer.

"Who knew?" she mused, her mouth curved into a wicked smile. "He's a boxers man." She feigned a look of vague disinterest, humming a soft 'doo-de-doo' through her lips, before pulling the drawer out and dumping all of the contents into an open bag. Maybe I should've stopped her. I mean, there I was, just sitting there, watching as Susie made off with his unmentionables, but the truth was, I enjoyed a good laugh at Calvin's expense more than anyone.

Susie glanced at me. "Don't look at me like that, Hobbes. He put _bugs_in my apartment." Her eyes glazed and she shivered at the memory. Then she snapped out of it and tilted her chin up, eyes flashing with vengeance. "He deserves far worse than what I'm going to do." She paused. "Not that it won't be... magnificent." That girl could really pull out some evil-looking smirks, when so inclined.

Hitching the bag on her shoulder, she marched two steps out of the room, and the front door handle turned. She froze. The muffled tones of Calvin's voice drifted through the now opening door. Color drained from Susie's face and for a moment, she did nothing, like a pale, quivering statue, and then she sprung into action. First she ran to the closet, but—perhaps deciding he might put a jacket in there or something—changed her mind and instead dove under the bed.

"Ew, ew, gross, gross—!" I heard her miserable whimpers just as Calvin strolled into the room.

"Hey buddy!" he called, an easy smile on his face. Usually, Calvin's irony and sarcasm kept people from seeing the good-natured person he was, but he was an innately happy boy who appreciated simple things (even if he thought he wanted complex rewards). And, I guess he wasn't a boy anymore.

He closed his cell phone and slipped it back into his pocket. "That was mom," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's planning Thanksgiving two months in advance, of course. Brought you something." He tossed me a Subway sandwich. Tuna on Italian herb. Excellent.

He stretched himself out on the bed beside me, where I was happily occupied with my tuna, letting his backpack slide to the floor with a thump. "Geez, I'm tired," he said, eyes closed. I was beginning to think maybe Susie was in luck (not that I was rooting for one team or another) and Calvin had fallen asleep, when his phone beeped and he groaned irritably, checking the screen. "Rachel," he murmured and punched in a quick reply.

He sighed and rolled off the bed. "I need to get in the shower. I have to take a private exam to get that Chemistry credit, and I signed up with a tutor." He grimaced.

"Why not Susie?" I asked.

"What?" Calvin frowned at me. "What do you mean, _why not Susie?"_

I lifted a shoulder in an indifferent shrug. "Susie tutors students. Why not ask her?"

"First of all," Calvin replied, "Susie doesn't tutor students. She made that up as an excuse so I wouldn't pry into who _really_called her. And secondly, Susie... Susie..." His cheeks reddened as he struggled to think up a proper vendetta against her. "...is annoying," he finished, lamely.

"So she doesn't officially tutor," I said, unwilling to let up, "She's still smarter at Chemistry than you. I bet she'd help if you asked."

"Ugh, _no,"_he said. "What is it with you and Susie..." He tugged his shirt over his head. It hit the floor by the bed. "Anyway, you didn't see Rachel. I'll have plenty of good company."

He unbuckled his pants and I blanched. "Do that in the bathroom," I said hastily. He paused, blinking at me in dumbfounded silence. I could understand his confusion, we were closer, far more comfortable, than the closest of brothers, but if he knew Susie was under the bed... he would thank me for stepping in.

"Okay," he said after a moment, bewildered, and walked into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I heard the sound of running shower water.

With a soft grunt, Susie rolled out from the cover of the bed. "Yuck," she said, flicking an old pizza crust off her shoulder. Standing, she blew her hair out of her face and snatched Calvin's discarded phone off the bed. "Rachel, huh?" she muttered.

Here's what I mean about observation being the best teacher. Susie, one might discern, was a little jealous, but even the hardiest of psychologists wouldn't be able to get that information out of her. In fact, I wondered if she even knew herself.

"Why don't I just send her a little message," Susie continued, fingers flying over the number keys.

One might also discern she was a little crazy talking to herself all the time, but people do that a lot around stuffed animals. And pets. I'll just say this: they might hear more than you think.

She set the phone back where she'd found it and paused upon seeing me. "Thanks for keeping my secret, Hobbes," she said. Her head tilted to one side thoughtfully, and she ran gentle fingers over my head. Susie has magic fingers. They're soft and nimble and graceful, like caressing rose petals. I was a purring machine.

Her hand stiffened. "Are you... _purring?"_she asked, and then shook her head, laughing anxiously at herself. "Of course you're not." She sighed. "But Calvin... Calvin really talks to you, doesn't he?"

She bit her lip, seemingly lost in thought, before she suddenly startled back into reality. "I better get out of here." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a cheetah-print Speedo. She nestled it into Calvin's empty underwear drawer and grinned at me. "In case he needs something after his shower." With a wink, she hurried from the room. The front door had barely clicked shut when Calvin's shower water turned off.

He emerged a few minutes later, damp, and smelling considerably better than before. The first place he went was the underwear drawer. After he opened it, he stared down, unblinking, for several long minutes. Finally, he picked up the cheetah Speedo and dangled it on one finger, turning to face me.

"What do you know about this?" he asked.

I weighed my options. He did a good job of appearing calm, but underneath his carefully schooled face simmered a boiling anger I was uneager to provoke into the open. I didn't do anything, and it was unfair for me to suffer the brunt of his temper. Not that he was really a threat to me in any way, but it was annoying. On the other paw, I felt like I owed Susie my loyalty. She had trusted me with her secret, even if she'd done so unconsciously.

On the other, other paw... I was the brains of this whole messy operation. Thus far, Susie and Calvin had both proven their capacity for common sense to be limited. If I didn't step in and do what was best for everybody, then who would?

So decided, I said, simply and uninterested, "Susie Derkins."

Calvin's eyes bugged. Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it wasn't that one. "Susie took my underwear?" he repeated. A mix of emotions battled for dominance over his face. Disbelief, approval, anger, a smug sort of pleasure, and anger again. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits and he clenched the skimpy excuse for underwear into a fist. I think what finally got him was that even after he knew what she'd done, he still had to play her game (unless he wanted to go commando).

He glanced at the clock by his bedside and cursed. "Shit. I'm late." With heavy dismay, he changed into the Speedo, threw on a shirt and jeans and raced from the room.

I had one second of doubt. Had I done the right thing?

Tch. Of course I had.

. . . . .

When Calvin returned an hour later, he was not happy.

"Janet won't tutor me anymore," he announced. He dropped his backpack onto the ground. "I showed up, she called me a disgusting jerk, poured her Diet Coke on me, and left! I tried to talk to her, but she kept going on about some text I sent her. But I know I didn't, here, I'll show..."

He trailed off, staring at the open screen on his phone, apparently having checked his 'Sent' messages and realizing he did in fact send a not-so-flattering text to Rachel.

"Susie," he said darkly and snapped the phone shut. He turned his black gaze on me. "You! What were you _doing_in here? _Watching_while she made off with my underwear and made my one hope of passing chemistry think I'm a pervert?" A strangled noise of frustration clawed from his throat and he paced around the room, yanking his hands through his already messy hair.

"Susie can be very intimidating," I defended myself. Now, as you know, nothing intimidates tigers, but for Susie, I'd debase myself just this once.

Face flushed red and eyes wild, Calvin nearly broke his phone punching in numbers. He held it to his ear for a few beats and then he shouted, "I want my underwear back!"

A pause.

"I know it was you! Hobbes... I mean..." He stumbled only a moment, and then regained his fire. "I just know!"

His argument left a lot to be desired. I could practically sense the crisp wit of Susie's likely more intelligent response. Calvin's face burned a deeper shade of red.

"I'm not stalking you—your roommate gave me the number, _entirely unasked for,_when—" He cut off, listening. "They weren't poisonous! Okay, one was, but you'd only get a rash."

I couldn't make out Susie's words, but she was yelling loud enough I could hear the sharp tone of her voice through the phone.

"What about Rachel? I need to pass Chemistry and you scared off the only tutor available!" Calvin shot back.

She responded, and his lip curled into a disgusted sneer.

"_I've gotten nothing but A's in__**my**____Chemistry classes,"_he mimicked her voice. "I don't want help from you!" He hung up and chucked the phone on the bed. Only my feline reflexes saved me from getting a cellular indent in the head. I said nothing, but before Calvin stormed from the room and slammed the door shut, he snapped back in my direction, "I'm not talking to you."

He wouldn't stay mad for long, because my plan was only in the seedling stages. When it blossomed into the full tree of love I anticipated it would, he'd thank me. I grabbed the phone he had chucked (you think he would have wised up to leaving his phone alone), and sent a text to Susie. Hard to do with paws, but I had nice, pointy claws to work with.

_I'm sorry I freaked. It's the Speedo. You wouldn't believe what kind of mood a perpetual wedgie can put you in. Tutor, please?_

Not bad, if I did say so myself. The bit about the wedgie could be taken sarcastically, but in good humor, something a repentant Calvin (almost an oxymoron, that one) would say. I was hoping Susie, being leagues more mature than Calvin, would rise to her part of the plan, and she didn't disappoint. The phone vibrated and played the catchy jingle Calvin programmed to signify an incoming text.

_This better not be a trick. Meet me in the library at seven thirty. Yes, in the morning._

Yeesh. Apparently, he wasn't wholly forgiven, but revenge had softened her enough to give him a second chance. Just like Susie.

Now the trick would be getting Calvin at the library at seven thirty in the morning. I had a moment of doubt. Had I done the right thing?

Of course I had.


	8. Chapter 8

Susie's POV

. . . . .

I rearranged the row of pencils next to my notebook, all exactly one inch apart, freshly sharpened. Obviously, I knew the benefits of mechanical pencils, or even pens, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of sharpening your own pencils to perfection. I'd been doing it since elementary school, when people still used good old Number Two's.

The library was quiet. It was several weeks before midterms, so no one was studying frantically to get a project done, or a paper typed, or study for that test they had two weeks to prepare for. It was actually kind of nice, but…

I checked my wristwatch again, lips pursed. 7:41. Already eleven minutes late, not that I was surprised. The truly surprising thing had been that he agreed to come at all.

I sighed and felt like slumping in my chair, but I didn't, because bad posture leads to early osteoporosis and, dear God—think if I had a slouch when I was older and ruling the country? Unacceptable.

I flipped open my phone and once again read went to my inbox to read Calvin's last reply. _I'll be there._

7:43.

Actually, I was a little smug. And a little righteous, maybe. I was so clearly the bigger person. He put bugs in my apartment, and I _still_offer to tutor him. I show up, even though I _know_he isn't going to. And yeah, maybe I also kind of stole his underwear and pasted them all over the Humanities Building hall (which he still doesn't know about, _ha)_, but the point is, I extended a hand of goodwill and forgiveness. Like Mother Theresa, or Julie Andrews…

"Sorry I kept you waiting."

My head snapped up and there he was, shirt inside out and eyes heavily lidded. And his hair was... just, totally awful. I couldn't believe he cared so little about his personal appearance to leave the house like that.

"It's no trouble." I mimicked his falsely polite tone and flashed a bright, envy-how-put-together-I-look-in-the-morning smile. He plopped into a chair so we faced each other at a right angle, rubbing at his eyes. He looked about twelve, and some part of me wanted to reach over and smooth his mussed hair and mother him, but the bigger part of me thought his sloppiness might be contagious and didn't want to touch him with a yardstick.

"I'm surprised you made it," I said.

"Yes, well, I did send a text confirming I'd be here, didn't I?" he replied sarcastically, as if he'd done the opposite. Well, whatever, I thought, brushing aside his callousness. Point was, he _had_sent it, I had the proof, and it was his choice to come or not.

"Okay. I have the allotted text for the university here with me," I said, patting the thick textbook. "Of course, we'll be following my own outline that I've devised for my more, shall we say, _challenged_students. It is elementary Chemistry we're studying, right?"

Calvin's chin was propped in his hand, his eyes slightly glazed. He was looking at me, his brow furrowed in an expression of contemplative listening and as I watched, he nodded a few times in agreement, though I'd stopped talking about thirty seconds ago. For a moment, the heat of indignation swelled through me. He hadn't even caught my clever and subtle insult at him. _Mother Theresa,_I chanted to myself. _You are a martyr, suffering for a selfless cause._

"Calvin!" I said shrilly and snapped my fingers in front of his face, purposely clipping his nose in the process.

"What?" He sat up, blinking in surprise.

"Do you want to learn Chemistry, or not?"

He paused. "Honestly…"

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Okay. Let me rephrase that. Do you _need_to learn Chemistry, or not?"

"Yes," he said solemnly. I opened my eyes and he did look pretty desperate. "Trust me," he continued, "I would never suffer through an hour with you this early in the morning if I didn't absolutely _need_it."

"Good," I said. My eyes narrowed and I leaned over the table. He pressed against the back of his chair, eyeing me with a hint of nervousness. "So listen up. We're doing this _my_way. Unlike you, I don't get anything out of this sordid little arrangement except the thrill of knowing I can mold even the most academically challenged mind into something bordering on intelligence. You will do what I say, when I say, and how I say, is that understood?"

Calvin's face puckered. I won't say I enjoyed watching him squirm, but… okay. I totally did.

Finally, through ground teeth, sounding like he was giving up his very soul, he said, "…okay."

Yes! I loved getting my way. I was going to be such a kick-ass lawyer.

Or… I would have been, if.. if I hadn't left and given up my career for an unknown path. Feeling a sudden tightness in my stomach and throat, I grabbed the textbook and opened it to the first page, hurriedly clearing my throat. "All right. Let's start with the very basics. What is matter?"

"Can I ask why a former Harvard student is TA-ing a first level Chemistry class?"

I clenched my fist and glared up at him. These random questions of perception and depth were really starting to get on my nerves. "May _I_ask what a graduating senior is doing taking a G.E. he should have gotten out of the way his freshman year?"

"I have taken it before. Twice. Failed twice. This is my last chance to get the credit," he answered simply. I was poleaxed. How could he just _say_that and not even flinch? Just thinking about uttering the words _I failed_turned my stomach into knots. While I stared at him, baffled, he lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm… broadening my horizons," I replied finally. Which was true. "My strength was in economics, but I've always been good at science as well. And math."

He looked completely disgusted. "Of course."

"Oh, don't look so wounded. There are plenty of people who excel at multiple levels. I don't imagine you associate yourself with anyone ambitious, mature or responsible, but I assure you there are plenty of people who take their education serious—"

"Oh shut up," he interrupted me, sounding more tired than annoyed. "It's too early."

I bristled, my cheeks rinsing with warm color. Stupid Calvin—he was always like this; he was the only one growing up who wasn't impressed with my accomplishments. In fact, the more smart and charming I was, the more he seemed to dislike me.

And as always, instead of rising above it and moving on, I lowered myself to his level to get his attention because I never could stand the thought of someone thinking I was less than wonderful.

"So." I let my eyes travel down to the waist line of his wrinkled, washed-out jeans. "Does the denim hurt?"

"What?" he asked, confused. Seeing the line of my gaze, his hand automatically flew to the zipper of his pants, checking for openings.

"I just mean that denim is kind of a rough fabric, and as I understand, the skin in that area can be really sensitive…"

Finally, Calvin caught my drift and his face almost seemed to snap, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening with incredulity. He appeared more shocked I was candidly speaking about a part of his anatomy that was, okay, kind of sexual, than that I'd openly admitted to my heinous deed.

"Actually," he said, once he'd recovered himself, "I'm enjoying the benefits of that lovely Speedo you left me—"

"An _animal print_Speedo," I put in.

"Yes," he said, lips twitching, "Leopard, I believe?"

"Cheetah," I said, and I couldn't help it, I was smiling.

"Right, well, it's very comfortable. I think I'm going to only wear Speedos from now on."

I giggled. And immediately clapped a hand over my mouth in mortification. What was I doing? See? _See?_This was what happened when I debased myself to Calvin's standard. We, uh, we… had fun.

Which, er—_well!_We weren't here for fun, were we?

I cleared my throat. "Can we get back to Chemistry, please?" I said frostily.

"Absolutely," he said with a small shrug. He opened his notebook with casual lethargy and then paused, glancing up at me. "Oh, and Susan?"

"Yes?" I said, grudgingly.

"Just remember you started this war."

"Me!" My cool demeanor dropped and my voice carried loudly across the library hall. After one of the librarian workers (a thirty-something guy with glasses and pleats, give me a break) shot me a withering look, I glowered back at Calvin. "You were the one who put bugs in my apartment! For _no reason!"_

"Yes, but _you_were the one who retaliated. Such childish behavior is common, nay expected, of lowlifes of my breeding. But you." He wagged a finger and 'tsk'ed in disapproval. "You knew better."

My face was beet red. Even my scalp tingled with hot rage. "You can't just do whatever you want because you're an immature little worm!"

"Can so." His brows arched mockingly.

That was it. That. Was. It.

I slapped an exercise sheet in front of him. "Here. Have this completed for the next time we meet. Which will be, oh—" I pretended to consult my calendar. "—tomorrow. And I really have a busy schedule so I think the only time I can squeeze you in is… five o'clock. That's _AM,_if you were wondering. And one more thing…" I stood and shouldered my bag, placing every ounce of dignity I possessed into the cool look I gave him down my tilted chin. "For every answer you get wrong, you will suffer."

He blinked, a bit stupefied, and I turned on my heel, letting my ambiguous warning linger in the air behind me.

I'd just gotten outside when my cell phone went off. A text, from Calvin. _You forgot to say where, genius. The library isn't open at five._

Oh. Right. I was a little impressed (I mean, shocked) that he was rising to the challenge without whining about it first.

_Your apartment or mine._

_Mine. See you then._

. . . . .

I wasn't in the best of moods walking to Calvin's place the next morning. For one thing, it was dark and I was freaking myself out walking alone on the sidewalk.

Two, it was early. Yes, I prided myself on being an early riser, but this was ridiculous. My body ached for more sleep. On the bright side, Calvin was probably suffering far more than I was.

Three, Justin left me two e-mails yesterday, both of which I deleted. It was weird. I wanted so badly for everything that happened at Harvard to just go away, but at the same time, I always felt a little thrill seeing his name appear in my inbox. And I hated myself for it.

Three and a half (half because it was only a tiny thing, but still irritating), Junie B. Jones appeared to be somewhat enamored by Calvin, and asked a lot of questions when I said I was going to his apartment the next morning. _Ew._

Four: When I went to the Humanities building yesterday evening to surreptitiously check on my handiwork, there was a sign by the posted underwear that read: _Todd, rot in hell you bastard!_I tore it down, wondering who the hell Todd was, but by then, the rumors were already circulating. Appreciative girls murmured about the chick who'd really gave it to her ex by parading his underwear in the west hall in the Humanities building, guys laughed about the poor sucker, and hoped they never dated a girl that crazy. Calvin suffered no humiliation at all.

Fourth, and finally: I was nervous to be in Calvin's apartment again. Not because of Calvin. Because of Hobbes. The whole seeing a real tiger where the stuffed animal used to be really had me freaked out. I couldn't afford to go crazy right now—plus if I started losing my mind around Dr. Perceptive, I would die. He'd always be able to one-up me.

"_You're an insufferable ingrate!"_

"_Yes, but, you're a nutcase."_

At last, I reached Calvin's apartment. I knocked, but not very loud, secretly hoping he was asleep and I could go back to bed and yell at him later. But to my complete surprise, the door swung open almost at once, revealing a very… groomed looking Calvin. "Hi!" he said—bright and chipper. He had on a nice sweater, with a belt and shoes and everything. "Do come in."

What an ass.

If he thought this was going to help his case, he was so wrong. He'd better hope he got every single question right on that exercise sheet.

He led me inside to the kitchen, which was sparkling clean, and pulled out a chair for me at the table. "Thank you," I said stiffly and sat down. I glanced up in time to see his grin as he fiddled with the coffee maker.

After setting a mug in front of me that I was dying to pounce on but didn't, he sat down, lacing his hands over the table top. "So—let's learn us some Chemistry!"

I hated him so bad. I saw his plan—he wanted _me_to suffer for my punishment while he flaunted his immunity.

"Yes, let's." I raised an eyebrow, trying hard to keep the moodiness out of my tone. "Did you do the worksheet?"

"But of course."

He smiled and did nothing. I stared at him. "So where is it?"

"Right, right. Let me grab it." He stood and disappeared down the hall.

I snatched up the coffee mug and inhaled deeply. After the first sip, a bit of the tension in my shoulders eased and I sighed in contentment. And then a tiger walked into the kitchen.

I froze, the rim of the coffee mug halfway to my lips, and watched as the tiger rummaged through drawers. Slowly, I set the mug down on the table. I wheezed, trying to catch my breath—my throat was having spasms. And then—on the kitchen tiles. I could see a shadow; vague, indefinite from the simple bulb lighting over the sink, but it was there.

Okay. Here it was. Either I was insane or I wasn't. Confront the problem, Susie. If you _are_crazy (please, please let me not be crazy), you should at least own up to it.

"Hobbes?" I whispered.

The tiger paused and looked over his shoulder at me.

Omigod.

"Hobbes," I said again, carefully, swallowing once. "I can see you."

Hobbes, if it was indeed Calvin's stuffed tiger come to life, blinked, looked side to side. Almost as if _he_thought _I_ was crazy and didn't know how to deal with me.

And then, his mouth opened, and he said: "Can you hear me too?"

I screamed and bolted for the door, running right into Calvin. "Ow—what?" He caught sight of my expression, reaching out to steady me. "What's going on?"

"I… I…" I floundered, panicky and incoherent, and then I looked at his face, confused, but also concerned, and… I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him that I was having hallucinations about his stuffed tiger. And not because he would think I'd lost my mind, but… I mean, the last time I was here, he talked to Hobbes like a person. And he'd sounded so… at ease, so himself (not that I was any expert on the true Calvin to compare). It clearly wasn't just an issue of childhood memento, and I didn't want him to think I was mocking him.

"It's . . . nothing."

"She can see me, and hear me," Hobbes said. His voice sounded bizarrely human, like a thirty-something male, warm and intelligent, with a certain dryness to it that made his words sound infinitely important.

Calvin stiffened—barely, but I noticed. He coughed.

"Did you, ah, hear that?" he asked.

He heard Hobbes just now; he must have. What was I supposed to say? Look at him—what is that? Fear? Hope? Just fess up!

"Hear what?" I heard myself saying in a tight voice.

"Nothing." Calvin smiled, strained, and I saw him shoot Hobbes a hard look.

"The worksheet?" I asked, my voice all high and pitchy and obnoxious.

"Right! Here it is." He handed me a paper, crinkled and bent after our minor collision.

"Um, okay," he said, "You just… start correcting, and I'm going to pick up a bit—I don't know what my stuffed animal is _doing in here."_Hobbes stuck out his tongue.

With both hands around the tiger's middle, Calvin tried to drag Hobbes from the room. Hobbes sat on his haunches and pulled back.

"Leave him in here!" I said, before I could stop myself.

Calvin glanced up at me. "What? Look, really, it's no big deal, it'll just take a second—"

"I like him in here. It's cute… homey."

Calvin stared at me and then reluctantly released his hold. "Fine, whatever."

"Thank you, Susie," Hobbes said, but I was studiously going over Calvin's worksheet by the time Calvin looked in my direction.

Calvin sat down and I followed suit, still pretending to read his worksheet. Hobbes continued to watch us and I hastily pulled out the first thing I could think of to break the tense silence. "So, who's Todd?"

"Todd?" Calvin blinked, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh. Todd doesn't exist." He sipped his coffee, a spark of mischief flickering briefly in his eyes. "Not putting a name on unclaimed underwear. Rookie mistake."

"Ah."

He would know, I guess. I hated to admit it, but using the whole 'bitter ex-girlfriend' façade was actually quite ingenious. People lapped up the explanation without question.

Even so.

He was still without underwear. I had that triumph, at least.

"Alright, let's see. Question one." I skimmed over his answer. The question was: _What's the difference between a compound and an element?_He wrote: _Obviously, the two words use different letters in the English alphabet, but allow me to go the extra mile and delve into their different definitions,_and then he copied out nearly word for word the first definitions out of the dictionary, both of which only slightly had anything to do with chemistry.

"Wrong," I said. I reached into my bag and pulled out my regulation taser. Setting the wattage on its lowest caliber, I jolted him in the arm.

His arm twitched and jerked at an odd angle and his face lit up with pain. "_Ow!"_he yelped. "Holy shit—what was that?"

"I _said_for each question you got wrong, you would suffer."

"You're going to physically torture me every time I get it wrong?" He stared at me in disbelief.

"Yes. Question two."

"Wait!" He snatched his paper from my hands. "I, uh, maybe I should hurry and fix… some of these." He actually looked quite frightened.

"Take it easy on him," Hobbes said.

Very subtle, Calvin paused and rolled his eyes, but he didn't glance up from where he was crossing things out on his worksheet.

I put my hand over his, bringing his frantic writing to a halt. "Calvin," I said gently when he met my gaze, "You didn't even try on these."

He frowned. "Yes, I did. Everyone isn't as smart as you."

"But you _are_ smart! You just don't apply yourself."

"Right," he said flatly. "Never heard that one before."

"Well, it's true," I said, drawing my hand away with a slight blush. "Remember that stink bomb you created with a sodium chloride base? That's hard, and you did it. Now, I know you don't care about learning Chemistry, but you care about graduating and getting out of here. If you tried, I think… I think you'd not only pass, but you could get a good grade."

He studied me through narrowed eyes. "Do you give that speech to all your little guppy students?"

I smile. "Only the gullible ones."

This elicited a returning smile from him, small though it was. "Okay, but… it would really help me to study at a different time. Like when the sun's up, perhaps."

"Deal."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Blah, blah, no one reads these anyway, but since I haven't updated in . . . three years . . . I thought something of an explanation might be appropriate. For half of those three years I was on church service and not writing much, and when I got home, I decided to focus on school and writing things I could actually publish someday.

But then this friend got me hooked on Once Upon a Time and I thought, 'I _really _want to write some fanfiction about this… I wonder if my old account is still up?" And I read this old story and sort of fell in love with it again. I adore Calvin and Hobbes, and well, long story short . . . I wanted to keep writing it.

I also changed a few things. Susie's roommate is now Junie B. Jones.

. . . . . .

Calvin's POV

. . . . . .

I rocked impatiently on my heels as the printer gradually spat out an enlarged picture from my phone. It was fuzzy, but you could tell what it was. On the top, the blurred photograph of the testing center screen displayed the words _Chemistry 201: Exam 1. 91% _like a hallelujah chorus.

It was a miracle if I'd ever seen one. Snatching the paper, I raced from the library to Susie's dorm room. After two weeks of suffering through chem dialogue with me, she'd be more thrilled than I was, if only to be rid of me for awhile.

I knocked and Junie B. Jones answered the door.

"Presenting," I said in a deep voice, "Doctor Calvin's first ever passed Chemistry exam!" Then I jiggled the paper in front of my face, unable to hide my glee.

"Solid!" Junie raised a hand and we did the complicated handshake we'd made up in our many dogged hours together in this apartment.

I looked over her shoulder. "Susie home?"

"Yeah, sure. Come in."

Susie stepped from their bathroom, her hair wet around her bare-except-for-a-thin-tank-strap shoulders.

"Calvin! What are you doing here?" Her eyes widened and she pressed her fingers to her mouth. "How did your test go?"

Of course she remembered. Trying to look like the scent of her newly-washed skin wasn't making me a little dizzy, I whipped the paper toward her. "Take a gander, milady."

Her eyes scanned over the picture, then she gasped. "You did it!" She looked up and laughed. "You passed—Calvin, you got an _A!"_

And then she hugged me and I was so completely, overwhelmingly aware of every curve of her body touching mine that by the time I remembered to hug her back, she'd already pulled away and it was too late.

"Wow, congratulations." She put her hands on her hips. "I really am a genius."

"Ha ha." I would've given a snappier rebuttal if she wasn't right. I could still barely believe I'd passed—it certainly wasn't on my merit.

"Let's celebrate!" Susie said. "All of us. Give me just a minute to get changed and we can go out somewhere. My treat." She flashed that lightbulb-style smile and disappeared back into the bathroom with some clothes.

I looked at Junie.

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, Calvin—I can see that you really want me to come—but despite your embarrassing insistence, I think I'll stay here and _not _be the third wheel." She flopped onto her bed, already putting her headphones over her ears. I picked up a pillow to throw at her head, but Susie emerged from the bathroom. I moved it nonchalantly behind my back.

She shrugged into a coat and put a pair of earmuffs over her tied-back hair. "Coming, Junie B.?"

"Nah, I feel pretty null."

Susie shrugged. "Okay."

As soon as Susie turned her back, headed to the door, Junie mimed making-out with someone and then pretended to gag. This time the pillow hit her in the face.

. . . . . .

We walked down the streets of New York, hot chocolate in hand. It wasn't dark yet, but getting close enough vendors had turned on their neon signs. If we were in a park, we'd see the mid-October leaves changing and fallen on the ground.

"I hope you realize our temporary truce is now off," I said.

She gave me a pained look and rolled her eyes. "I'm not afraid of you," she replied, turning away.

"Famous last words."

"Besides, I don't think you'd dare do anything _too _horrific."

"Wow. It's like you don't know me at all. To _dare _is to secure your fate."

"Maybe. But while you managed to pass your mid-term, you still have a final in a few months. Do you really want to brave those waters without me?"

I considered this, thinking I really didn't. I delayed answering by taking of a swallow of hot chocolate.

She squinted at me over the rim of her steaming cup. "Now what are you thinking? It's like I can see smoke coming out of your ears."

"I'm calculating the size and magnitude of my desired prank to the ratio of your willingness to forgive and still tutor me."

"Let me help you. It's once, any size, and never again."

I laughed. We stopped on the street. I leaned in. In the cold, our visible breath combined with the steam from the hot chocolate provided an almost mystical mist between our now close faces. "Challenge accepted," I said. I meant to be menacing, but my voice was barely above a whisper.

I wasn't sure if it was our proximity that stole my usual confidence, or that in spending so much time together the past few weeks I had become like everyone else. She didn't pretend to be smart—she really was smart—brilliant even, and filled with high expectations, rich ideals and endless ambition. Obnoxious, of course—but that too had become part of her charm. It was hard not to admire her.

And then she smiled a little and I knew I had no choice but to kiss her.

Before I could, she jerked back, her eyes glued on something across the street. I couldn't read her face: surprise? Anger? Betrayal? Whatever it was, her features were rigid as stone and complexion dead as a cigarette butt.

I turned, frowning. Across the two-lane road a small playhouse advertised the night's show, some new drama called "Ambition," written and directed by Justin Terrence. A decent-sized crowd gathered around the ticket window. I checked my watch. It started in twenty minutes.

"Do you know the play?" I asked. I'd never heard of it; there was always some new production in New York.

I looked back at her—only to find her gone, running down the street. Not walking briskly—_running._

"Susie!" I ran after her.

She didn't stop or acknowledge my shouts. At the corner, she flagged down a passing taxi. By the time I reached them, they had pulled away from the curb. I stopped—out of breath, confused. Susie turned to look at me through the back window before the taxi disappeared around a corner.

I took out my phone and dialed her number. It went to voicemail.

"Fine," I said. "But call me. Please. I'm sorry, whatever it is."

I sighed and retraced my steps, picking up both mine and Susie's discarded hot chocolate cups and throwing them in the trash. Glancing once more at the lit playbill, I resolved to see it before the week was up.

I thought about going home, but if I did that, I'd have to talk to Hobbes—and right now I didn't really want to talk to someone who knew me better than myself. I was more scared to figure out my feelings than to feel them.

This entire evening made me very uncomfortable, and not just Susie's outburst. I almost _kissed _her. Something unexplainable was going on, and I had the sneaking suspicion it was already too late to stop whatever it was.

I settled on Wong's sushi bar (bars never had suited me). On a Thursday night, it was less crowded than I'd hoped, giving Wong far too much time to pay attention to me.

"Why you not eating?" he asked. "Burgers bad tonight?"

"No, Wong. I'm sure they're great. I'm just not hungry."

"Girl trouble?" Someone, not Wong, asked. A girl, going by the voice.

I turned from my tiny, two person table. The owner of the voice sat on a similar table adjacent to mine. Her posture would have put even Susie to shame, her eyes and hair the same striking black color. I studied her for a moment, trying to decide if I knew her from anywhere—but, no—she was completely unfamiliar, if a little intimidating, and I had no idea why she'd spoken to me.

"Excuse me?"

"If you give me five dollars, I'll give you advice."

"What? Are you kidding? I'm not giving you five dollars."

She shrugged. "Your loss. I give _great _advice." She returned to the financial journal she'd been reading. I narrowed my eyes, unabashedly staring. Sitting alone reading a journal was fine for something like a coffee shop, but this was a sushi/burger joint. It was noisy and smelly. What was she doing?

I fished in my wallet to find out how much change I had.

"I have a nickel," I said.

She glanced up. After a moment, a small grin appeared. "Okay. Good enough."

She moved herself to the seat across from me and held out a hand. I deposited the nickel onto her palm. "Well?"

"Man up, cowboy," she said. I waited for whatever would come next, but nothing did.

"That's it? Man up cowboy?"

"You only gave me a nickel. What did you expect?"

I rolled my eyes, slumping farther into my seat.

"Sorry," she said quietly. I glanced up.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking momentarily sad. "I'm sorry. It's just, that's what I'd say to my . . . well, not boyfriend. Not anymore. But that's what I'd say to him."

"You gave him an ultimatum."

She met my eyes with a sharp look. "You're a perceptive guy," she mused after a moment. "But no. Not this time. I'm just very—" She blew out a harsh breath. "Bossy. And I try to be nice, really. But sometimes if he'd stand up for himself it would help keep me in check, you know?"

"If you're really that bossy, you probably shouldn't be with someone so passive to begin with."

"Exactly!" She pointed at me. "Exact-a-mundo, buddy. We're awful for each other, we really are—I more so for him."

I couldn't help my half smile. "But you love him."

"Yes," she growled, plopping her chin in her hand with self disgust.

"I don't understand the girl I like even a little bit, and that bothers me, because I'm used to understanding things. She exemplifies most things that annoy me. And she makes me feel stupid and childish."

"Let me guess—but you love her?"

That drew me up short. Did I?

"I don't . . . think so."

God—I would kill myself if I did. But I didn't. Not yet. There was still time.

"I'm Lucy, by the way."

"Calvin."

She drew in a sharp breath. "Omigod."

A young man walked through the door of the sushi bar, his cheeks flushed with cold. He was a bit pudgy and his hairline was already receding. But he had nice eyes—if you were a girl into the whole puppy dog look.

He came right up to our table. Lucy's mouth was open.

"Charlie?" she asked.

"Don't talk to my girlfriend," he said to me. Despite what Lucy said, he didn't seem all that timid to me. Quiet—yes. Unremarkable—definitely. But his soft voice didn't quiver; his gaze was steady, if a little intense.

I raised an eyebrow. He turned to Lucy and took a deep breath. "Lucy, you can't keep treating me like this. I deserve better." He softened. "But . . . I'd like to . . . work on it."

Lucy softened. "Charlie Brown, I've never seen a worse attempt to stand up for yourself."

Charlie Brown deflated.

"But you clearly need me to teach you so I guess I'll have to come home tonight." Then she stood up, took his face in her hands and kissed him. I mean, _kissed _him.

When they were finished—and it took a minute—Lucy grabbed her things and they left without so much as a backward glance at me. Highly dysfunctional, obviously. But also . . . sort of sweet. And who was I to judge? I talked to my stuffed animal.

I checked my phone. No messages.

I could go to her apartment and pull a Charlie Brown. But, in the end, I went home and shut off my phone.


	10. Chapter 10

**a/n: **To a particular reviewer, who PMed a very creative and persuasive request for an update, this is for you. Sorry it's nearly a week later than I said. As for the question of whether or not there'll be anymore comic cameos, let's just say Calvin might eventually get a roommate with the initials D.M.

. . . . .

Chapter Ten

Susie's POV

. . . . .

Okay. Deep breath.

I wrung the program in my hands. It tore a little, its binding soggy from my sweat-soaked palms. The twelve dollars I'd spent on my ticket in the middle-back felt like dirty money. I'd paid in cash, on the paranoid fear that Justin would somehow be able to trace my credit card and know I'd been to see his stupid play.

_Ambition._

That's what he'd called it.

Finally, the lights dimmed and the opening scene began. A girl strode onto the stage, dressed in an expensively cut suit, her heels three inches high. _Discrepancy number one, _I thought. I hardly ever wore heels that high, unless I was doing an interview, and even then, only certain types of interviews. At least she was pretty.

She carried a suitcase behind her and stopped center stage. Drawing her shoulders back, she took a deep breath and looked out at a place the audience couldn't see. "Harvard," she breathed. If she'd looked hopeful, excited—even naïve—I could have stomached it. But she looked hungry. Almost cruel. Like she was going to consume and conquer Harvard.

That wasn't me, was it?

The play continued, outlining the meeting of a harried literature professor and this young, ambitious woman. He'd made himself extra handsome, I noted with distaste. He came off as a young PhD graduate, barley starting his tenure at Harvard and filled with romantic ideals and hopes for changing his students' lives.

He obviously hadn't felt it necessary to include the way he also sneered at anyone uneducated, the way he droned in complaint about the government and reality TV as if he sat on a lofty platform above them. Even _mentioning _Twilight could send him on a rant that lasted twenty minutes.

Before I could stop myself, I thought of Calvin, who was just as smart, and although arrogant, didn't mark anyone's personal value by their education.

I shook that thought off. I wasn't here to compare Calvin and Justin.

In the play, the girl who was me couldn't enjoy anything. She dismissed nature, movies and simple pleasures for homework, internships and a grueling class schedule. And okay—I did usually take more credit hours than was advised, but I wasn't a robot. I hadn't socialized much, but that was because most of the time I was with Justin.

The Justin character gave a monologue about how he'd fallen in love with a girl incapable of love—how she'd captivated him with the cold, hard appeal of a diamond.

I checked the playbill. Only more scene until intermission, but I couldn't wait that long. I sprang to my feet, pushing past the annoyed patrons in my row until I burst into the empty lobby. Leaning down on my knees, I took a deep breath. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't.

"Susie?"

I straightened with a jolt, the voice sickeningly familiar.

I turned and there he was, shutting the door to the theater behind him.

"I've been watching for you every night, hoping you'd come." He hadn't exaggerated his handsomeness _too _much in the play, unfortunately. He had light brown hair and even lighter blue eyes, a speckling of freckles on the bridge of his nose that was offset by the strong, prominent cut of his jaw.

"I'm leaving," I said, turning on my heel.

"Susie—wait."

I stopped, not because he had any power over me—he didn't, not anymore. But I realized there _was _something I wanted to say. I wheeled around and strode back to him, hoping I looked every bit like the soulless woman he portrayed me as.

"Stop sending flowers and stop sending e-mails, you selfish, undeserving asshole. You used me as inspiration to get yourself published. And despite the way you portrayed _Sally Perkins, _I loved you."

That was the worst part. In high school, I'd gone on dates, sure. But I'd attended an all-girl private school on scholarship, so those were few and far between. Justin was the only man I'd loved. I'd lost all of my girlish ideals on him, as well as my virginity.

I ended things, yes. But I'd also found his play and a pink silk thong I knew wasn't mine.

"I _still _love you, Susie. I know you're upset about the play. I don't want you to hurt, but don't make me wait until you've surpassed my success to be happy with you. No one can give you a thick skin but you. I shouldn't have to fail so you can be comfortable."

I couldn't breathe. _That _waswhy he thought I was upset? Because he succeeded before me? The reason I'd failed my last semester and transferred to NYU had nothing to do with jealousy. It was because the planet I'd been orbiting the past three years turned out to be a scumbag more concerned with his publishing career than me.

"At least see the end of the play—please. I changed it, for you."

I'd slapped him before I realized I'd decided to, my hand stinging hotly. I was out the door before he could say anything else, practically running to get away.

. . . . . .

By the time I made it to my dorm building, my fire had run out and I plonked heavily up the stairs. He was wrong—but he was also right. I _did _shun people, not intentionally, but friends had left and I'd blamed it on jealousy. The same with the boys who didn't pursue me farther than a first or second date. They were _intimidated. _But maybe they weren't jealous or intimidated. I just lacked the ability to connect sincerely with another human being.

I entered my hallway and came up short as I saw Calvin sitting in front of my door. I stiffened as he rose to his feet.

"How long have you been sitting here?" I asked, not liking how strange and hollow my voice sounded.

"A few hours." He dusted off his pants. "I sent you a text."

I hadn't even turned on my phone since yesterday night, but Calvin didn't seem offended or surprised that I hadn't answered.

"Sorry," I muttered. Something like panic was starting to swell in my stomach. What was he doing here?

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "I figured this was the only way to talk to you. Want to tell me why you ran out on me last night?"

Oh god—last night. I remembered the way he looked at me just before I saw the play title lit up. I thought he was going to kiss me. At the time, I'd been weirdly happy about it, but now I realized I'd fooled Calvin just like everyone else. Over two weeks of tutoring, he'd been exposed. He got an A on his test and connected me to the success.

I'd forgotten too, who I really was. It almost felt like middle school again, with the playful bantering, but he didn't see me. Not really. He had no idea what I'd been in Harvard, the reality of _Sally Perkins, _and the broken heart Susan Derkins wore because of her. He was drawn into the shiny diamond, not realizing he was going to cut himself.

"Calvin—go home."

He frowned. "No."

"Don't do this."

"Do what? Be concerned?"

"Yes!" I snapped. "It's none of your business."

His face reddened. "It is my business if you leave me in the middle of the sidewalk with no explanation."

"Listen," I said. "I had a fun time tutoring you. I did. And I'm so glad I could help."

His face darkened. He was too perceptive. He could sense the rejection before I'd even said it.

"But, " I continued before I lost my nerve, "we're not suddenly best friends, okay? You don't know anything about me. You have no idea who I am."

"I'm trying . . ." He stepped closer. Too close. His hair adorably mussed. And his eyes looking like he might be the first person to really see me . . .

And that's what jolted me back. I didn't _want _him to see me, not the me I truly was.

"Well, don't! I don't want to get to know you—I don't want that."

He drew back.

"I'm not unconsciously pushing you away because I'm scared." I drew a deep breath. "But either respect my boundaries or leave me alone. Please."

The strength it took to walk past him to my door was the kind normally reserved for pulling up that last lip of a steep cliff. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't turn as I opened my door and walked inside.

. . . . . .

Halloween.

It was clearly a favorite holiday of Junie's. She'd decorated most of our room. I was counting the days until I could afford my own place. Hopefully before Christmas.

It was a good thing I'd taken on such a light load after my transfer, or I might have somehow managed to fail another semester. At a state level university. Ugh. Ten days had passed? Two weeks? I wasn't sure. Justin had—despite my warning—sent a few e-mails. And left a voicemail.

Calvin hadn't sent anything. Not that I cared.

I laid on my back, staring at the ceiling. One of my new favorite pastimes.

Junie's phone rang—some indie rock song. "Junie," I called. She could hear neither me nor her phone with her headphones on. "Junie!" I threw a pillow and she jerked as it smacked her in the face.

Tearing her headphones off, she glared, opening her mouth—but then she heard the ringing. "Crap." After digging around in her backpack, she found her phone and pressed it to her ear. "Hello?" Her face broke into a smile. "Hey Calvin!"

I stiffened, picking up a book off my nightstand so I could pretend to be interested in something else. Why was he calling her?

"No—I got the invite on Facebook. Of course I'm coming."

Calvin's Halloween party. I saw the event page, but hadn't been offered an invitation.

She laughed. "I would _love _to be the Dill to your Pickle."

What was that?—some kind of innuendo?

_You don't care, _I reminded myself.

And I didn't. Not about his stupid party anyway. But since when did Junie and Calvin get chummy enough that Calvin wanted to do a joint costume with her? I wondered if he realized she had a little crush on him. Maybe he did, and that was exactly why he was calling her.

"Okay—see you there, bye."

Without looking at me, she hung up and put her headphones back on. But I noticed the loopy smile on her face and the light pink tinge to her cheeks.

I _should _go to the party, to protect Junie. Or at least make sure Calvin was sincere. And if he was, well then . . . good for them.

But still. I should make sure.

The party was tomorrow. I needed to find a mask quick, since I wasn't technically invited.


End file.
